The Blutbau Cometh
by LittleBounce
Summary: Rosalee is calm, but Monroe is having a pre-parental crisis. There's nothing like having a group of supportive friends around to become family when baby arrives and needs to be born safely in a world of inconvenience and annoying parents... especially when security needs to be tightened because the Verrat are on the march... Nick is the best God-father... ever.
1. Chapter 1

**And here we are, finally… the first chapter of the Blutbau Cometh. It follows on a couple of weeks after Waifs and Strays, where we left our little gang of friends on Christmas Eve…**

**As it's been three months since I finished that story, I hope this first little chapter doesn't feel too re-cappy. I've tried not to make it too much like that! The chapters in this story will probably be a lot shorter than I've recently been doing just so that I can update reasonably quickly.**

**Anyway – I hope you enjoy! Be gentle, lol – had terrible writer's block for weeks…**

_**Ps – still working on the concluding stories of 'A life less Grimm'… but this story just happened to win the muse battle after three weeks of mental fighting ;)**_

**X x X**

"Nick, I need you."

Nick groaned lowly into the phone and butted his head on his pillow a few times. Such a nice dream – totally ruined. He'd been on his front, not wearing a stitch, hands running up and down his back, and then snatched abruptly away from it all by the irritable buzzing of his phone. He sighed.

"The time for pre-parental solitude is over―"

"It's been over for days," Nick whined. "It's been over since New Year's Eve!"

"I'm sorry, Nick," Monroe spluttered, and Nick could hear him pacing up and down. "I need distraction. The waiting is driving us _completely berserk_! A week! A week overdue!"

"Okay," Nick croaked, pulling his hand down his face. He glanced over at his alarm clock with one eye, the other almost welded shut with sleep dust. "You know it's three after six in the morning, right?

"Five after."

"Monroe! We don't all get up at dawn to settle our inner wolf!"

"That's the problem ― I'm so stressed that there is nothing 'inner' about my wolf! My wolf is 'outer' all the way. If I stand within a couple of metres of the TV or Rosalee's super-static fleece, my face pretty much stands up."

Nick swung his legs out of bed. Alright ― fair enough. Monroe had bailed him out more times than he could possibly recall. "So, what d'you need me to do?"

"I need you round here. I need someone to yell at so that I don't keep wogeing. And someone for Rosalee to yell at so that she doesn't yell at me. Denny's coming round with Theo, but that doesn't count because Rosie doesn't yell at them."

Nick felt unenthused. He'd already had a few mornings of unjustified yelling — Monroe pulling in all his favours in one go, it felt like — and didn't particularly feel like another one, even if there were others around to spread the pain. "Well, I was going to meet you at the Winterfest anyway to help out with the stall, so… how much earlier do you want me?"

"Uh... how would 'in twenty minutes' do you?"

"What?"

"Well it'll only take you seven and a half minutes to drive here—"

Nick chuckled dryly down the phone. "I'll see you in an hour. I want to go for a run, get some breakfast…"

"Oh, man..."

"Bye!" Nick hung up, took his anti-pheromone pills and dragged on sweats, then left a note for Livvy so she'd know he'd gotten home safe the previous night and gone out again.

* * *

Livs

Have not been murdered, have gone for run

N xx

* * *

He hadn't really expected to have to account for his movements in this flat-sharing arrangement, especially as Livvy was staying with him rent-free. In some ways, sharing his space again came as a hell of a shock: after three days of living together, they were already fighting over who'd chosen the best lock for the bathroom (and who was the most competent with a powerdrill to fit it.) And it had only taken five days and a furious pizza-flinging episode at 2am for him to work out that Livvy worried about him if he didn't check in. But in other ways, it was nice: nice to have someone to talk to after work about all things cop and Grimm; and great to find snacks left in the fridge for him, with his name on them.

Nick locked up quietly, trying not to wake her. Her leg was doing much better, but the inflammation was wiping her out a little. He still felt bad that she'd got sucked into his whole Grimm-Cop crossover problems within days of being partnered with him as his rookie, but the shooting incident created a proper new friendship: as an Andersen, she couldn't see the woge, but could see people's secrets and patterns of wesen behaviour within moments of speaking to them; as a Grimm, he could tell her if she was dealing with wesen or not, and to a degree, what to expect. Not that this would help Livvy for a few months. She wouldn't be coming off light duties until at least April so would need to stay with him until either she saved enough money for a deposit on her own place, or managed to extract her savings from her defunct Icelandic Bank with legal force. Either way, he'd miss her when she went.

Nick put his nanopod in his arm strap and set off at a pelting run with Garbage's 'Stupid Girl' pounding in his ears. He'd grown a little obsessed with that song since Denny let him play with the electronic drum kit Jan had bought him for Christmas. The kit was so addictive that it took both Jan and Denny, respectively woged as Koninglowen and Siegbarste, to haul him off the drumming stool and bundle him back into his car. The track shifted to Paradise City, which he didn't recall downloading at all, but sprinted through it anyway. As Guns 'n Roses faded into John Farnham's 'You're the Voice', Nick suspected Denny of tampering with his iTunes account and his theory was confirmed as he found himself wincing all the way home through a blast of 'Wuthering Heights'.

But still — trying to outrun cheesy music was good exercise. He reached the back steps of his apartment block, staggered up the steps and let himself back in. He was barely panting: his levels of fitness were back to the elevated state they'd been at just before siege night at Tennant's Bar. "Liv… Livvy?"

Silence. Nick squinted across to the kitchen table. She'd added to his note.

* * *

Nick

Really glad you're not murdered. Am not abducted, have gone to buy eggs.

Livvy xxxx

* * *

Nick grinned, stripped off, and headed for the shower.

It was weird to think that it had only been a couple of months since he, Monroe and Jan had been locked into Denny's club security office for protection. The beginning of that night, gossiping while they queued to get past Denny the doorman and into the wesen club, seemed to belong in a different lifetime now. He and Juliette were beginning to drift back from friends territory to something more; Monroe hadn't known that Rosalee was pregnant; his first partner Jan was still part of Nick's past after years of no contact; and Nick still had reason to believe, after Oleg Stark, that Siegbarstes were as evil as they were dumb…

The daydreaming wasn't getting him clean or dressed, so he rinsed his hair, grabbed his towel and darted back to his room to pull on clothes. He was just towel-drying his hair when Livvy stumbled in.

"You back, Nick?"

"Yep!"

"Dressed _and_ taken anti-man-magnet pills?"

"Both!" He darted into the front room and rescued the eggs before they lost sadly in the balance match between Livvy, her crutches and her rucksack. "I could've gotten those for you, you know."

"I ask a lot of you, Nick, but making you jog with eggs is going a little far. I need the exercise anyway. You're up early. On Monroe duty again?"

Nick snapped the kettle on. "Yep, until eleven, then it's time to set up at the Winterfest. You coming?"

"I dunno. I'm kind of tired. Is it going to be crammed with confusing wesen?"

"Yes, it's kind of the point of the whole event! Wesen, mingling. So long as you stay away from the woge-battling area and don't read the stall signs too closely, it'll just seem like a funfair."

"A funfair in the middle of the forest."

"In the middle of the forest, yeah." Nick had a bad feeling about this. "Not really the ideal place to be if mini-Monroe finally decides to show up."

"That's probably their plan," Livvy mused. "They've done the life-stops part of the waiting, and now they're doing stuff which would be massively non-labour-friendly if tiny were to show up all of a sudden. I think they're now daring him to appear."

"Makes sense," Nick muttered. "Egg on toast?"

"Yes please!"

Nick started making breakfast, musing on her very valid theory. It at least explained why Monroe ― previously Mr Hyperprotective ― had bullied everyone into going to see Texas Chainsaw Massacre 3D with him and Rosalee, which seemed to Nick at the time like the worst idea ever, but it seemed that he was trying to scare Rosalee into contractions. All the way to the Brockman theatre, Monroe kept holding her hand and saying they could leave any time if it got too much for her, but no one had realised that Rosalee actually loved a good horror movie. Baby didn't appear, but she scared everyone _else_ into contractions. Nick considered himself quite hardened to a shock these days, but at the first 'jump moment' of the movie, Rosalee screamed so alarmingly that she set off a male Mexican scream down the entire aisle, scattering them with their own snacks and making Hank fall out of his seat at the other end. Horror movies with Rosalee were quite high up on Nick's list of experiences not to repeat.

"Who's playing midwife in all this, by the way?" Livvy asked suddenly.

Nick broke from his reverie, shovelling the eggs onto toast and sticking their plates on the kitchen table. "Huh?"

"It's a wesen birth, so it's going to be complicated, right? Presumably they can't just tootle off to some ante-natal unit ―what if mini turns up all furry?"

"Denny's on constant standby. Makes sense. He's starting his EMT re-training in a couple of weeks anyway."

Livvy looked doubtful. "Is that wise? The birth's going to be stressful enough for her. The last thing she needs is panicked ogre between her legs at the critical moment."

"They're not really spoiled for choice, Livvy. I think they're all hoping that Monroe will get chatting to folks at the Winterfest and find a doctor or nurse wesen who's prepared to help out. They've been looking since she found she was pregnant, but people can be weirdly sectarian about mixed-breed relationships." The attitude in some wesen made Nick mad, especially when they ran malicious anonymous tips on each other, knowing he was a Grimm, hoping that someone was either going to get life or get decapitated.

"Wesen are sectarian? Really? But they're all people on top!"

Nick hid his smile as he poured out the coffees. For someone who could see so deeply into people, Livvy could be incredibly innocent. "Exactly. Among humans, you get religious bigots, racists, sexists, homophobes… etc etc. Among wesen, you get all that, plus species hate. Remember I told you about the Verrat?"

Livvy pulled a face. "Vividly. Dog-like wesen Nazis. Nice."

"Well… the reason they've survived so long is that there are a lot of wesen out there that share their views ― only without the murdering aspect. No mingling. No mixing. Certainly no cross-breeding. It's why the Winterfest is such a big deal. You'll probably see some signs on various stalls and games saying 'No Siegbarstes', but a lot of people have said they'll show up. It's a start."

"Poor Denny. He's _so _not an ogre." Livvy stretched with exaggerated carelessness. "So… Denny's hanging around Rosalee a lot… right now?"

"She's seeing as much of him as Monroe."

"I'll just go freshen up." Livvy hobbled off like a shot, her raging crush on Denny as subtle as ever.

Nick rolled his eyes and finished his breakfast, feeling a little like the main point of his philosophical lecture had fallen on deaf ears. He sipped at his coffee while she did a whirlwind change ― her speed truly impressive for someone wearing an orthopaedic boot ― and reappeared in a glittery tank top and smart jeans, her hair tied back and lip-gloss on. She looked as buxom as she was ever going to without silicone intervention, and for Livvy, this was serious effort. He felt bad for her as she stamped back over, tinsel wrapped round her boot to make it prettier. He knew what being on the giving end of one-way love was like.

He took her hand lightly as she approached. "You look _really_ nice, especially with ah… with the festive boot, but… you know that Denny's New Year's Eve kiss was just a mistletoe attack, right? To cheer you up?"

"I know." Livvy slumped back at the coffee table. "I thought it'd cure me, but…"

Nick reached over and lightly tugged her ponytail as she dropped her face down on her forearm, whining quietly to herself. "I'm sorry. It'll get better."

"What's the matter with me, Nick? It's such a completely, completely pointless crush."

"They often are."

"I'd mud-wrestle an octopus for that man!"

Nick winced away the mental image. "I didn't need to know that. _Again_." He glanced down at his watch and threw the rest of the coffee down his neck. "Right, we've got to go."

They got to the door and flung it open to find Hank on the other side of it, holding Matty and looking slightly traumatised by being up and about at just after seven on a non-working day. Trying to hide his surprise at Hank being on baby-sitting duty, Nick held his hands up for Matty, who flung his arms wide and plunged sideways for a hug.

"That's a good welcome for your favourite Grimm!"

"Favrit Grimm!" Matty agreed and bounded cheerfully on his forearm.

"Hope you don't mind, but I've come to do some load-spreading," Hank muttered, wiping his face. "I've had Matty since yesterday afternoon and we've had a great time, but… kind of running out of things to do. Hey, Livvy! Nice top."

"Thanks!" Livvy handed Hank her crutches to hold while she hobbled unevenly down the apartment steps.

"Happy to help," Nick said, "But we're off to the spice shop right now. Want to ride with us and leave your car here?"

"Sure. It's as safe here as anywhere, I guess."

It took them just a few minutes to wrestle the baby seat out of Nick's boot and fix it into the back seat. It took a little longer to wrestle Matty into it. His lowen strength was beginning to show at only 18 months, even when he was just playfully wriggling. Nick wondered how Bud was coping. He and Janie were nearly done with Matty's adoption process. He'd been a witness for their parenting skills. They all got strapped in, then Nick put the car into drive.

"So how did you wind up looking after Matty?"

"Zucchinis," Matty explained, obliquely.

"Zucchinis?"

"I found him re-stacking the cucumbers and zucchinis in whole foods while Bud was running around in a panic looking for him. While trying to hide from his mother in law. Well, I've hidden from four MILs, felt his pain, and offered to have Matty for the night so Bud could rest up a little."

Nick frowned. "He ok? I know he's been a little more frantic than usual since chairing the Winterfest organising committee, but…"

"Midlife crisis," Hank said quietly.

Livvy, bless her, caught the discreet tone and engaged Matty in a game of rock, paper and scissors to keep him busy.

"Really?"

"He doesn't like fridges anymore."

"Right… I can see how that could be a problem…" But it didn't come as a particular surprise to Nick. Bud hadn't exactly been fond of the particular model he and Juliette had used, and that was supposed to be close to the top of the range… "Does he know what he wants to do instead?"

"Climbing frames. Safe ones, designed for children."

"Ah… maybe I'm being dense, but… aren't they all?"

"Apparently they're all deadly and built with council budgets in mind, rather than children. Just don't get him started on the topic," Hank warned. "By the time he's gone through the average mismatch between step distance and slide length, it's quite a lot of the day gone."

Nick chuckled, wondering if Bud had subjected Jan and his vast wallet to his business idea yet. Most likely: Jan was also on the Winterfest organising committee…

"By the way," Hank added slowly, "You made a certain promise at the end of last year…"

"To tell Wu. I know."

"New Year, New Wu, you said, and he's still not filled in, so―"

Luckily Nick already had a plan. He'd texted Wu yesterday to invite him to the Winterfest and re-introduce him to quite a few wesen that he thought he already knew… as humans. "He's coming this afternoon."

"What?" Hank gaped. "I said we needed to _fill him in_! Not drop him neck-deep in weird!"

"I'm not dropping him neck-deep in anything!" Nick protested. "Look, he already knows Denny pretty well from his brief stint with the public disorder unit, and Monroe and Rosalee saved his butt when he had that weird, Zaubertrank-induced Pica―"

"Yeah, not the smoothest of introductions for the poor guy, waking up in his boxers on the couch with a seriously sore nose and having them looming over him."

Nick frowned. "How do you know about that?"

"Wu told me over a beer. He was freaked out. And I had sympathy because Monroe and Rosalee had the same effect on me when they randomly showed up in my bedroom. At least Wu was wearing a tee-shirt and boxers…." Hank shuddered. "Anyway, his information is really limited. He only knows about Jan being a Koninglowen because he ripped the door off his flaming car, and that's about it. He just about understands 'wesen'. He doesn't even know about Grimms."

"You're probably the best person to tell him―"

"No, Nick! I've had, what… a couple of months to get my head round this whole thing?"

"Exactly!" Nick turned off the freeway and turned back into central Portland. "You'll come at it with the perfect one-step-at-a-time perspective, whereas… well. I think I've got my mom's news-breaking gene."

"Yeah…I've noticed that," Hank muttered. "Why don't we get Jan to do it?"

"Because Jan's recruiting for the special constabulary. He'll be busy trying to round up big wesen and talk them into being unpaid part-time cops. His hands will be full."

"Oh man… we need to write some kind of induction course for Kerseite Slichkennen. 'Seen something scary and hairy? Call this number!'"

Nick brightened as he hit the inner lane on the roundabout and peeled off towards the Pearl. He felt delegation victory looming. "That's a great idea. I'm sure Jan could come up with funds for a Freephone line―"

"Just you be quiet and drive, man…"

Nick watched Hank roll his eyes and sigh heavily, and pursed his lips against an open grin. The big guy was _so_ bad at pretending to be mad.

**X x X**

"Alright, I'm coming!" Rosalee called at the sound of banging at the back door, hoping her voice would carry across the living area, down the little corridor and through the rear fire door. Monroe's head popped round the corner of the storefront double doors.

"Shall I go?"

"It's fine honey, I got it..."

She made her way from the couch at a waddle, holding the small of her back and feeling about as energetic and graceful as a drunk elephant. Though she did feel much more her normal self and less of a walking hormone than she had done the last couple of days, which was a really welcome progression. She missed sharing the bed with Monroe, though. The curly couch was the best place to sleep, right now: as much as she loved cuddling up to him, his mid-dream fur explosions were less than restful and the stress-moulting was making the bed itchy.

The hammering ceased before she got to the back door, and she pulled it open, expecting a slightly glazed Grimm after hearing Monroe's dawn SOS call. It was Denny, looking just as bleary, one hand pinning a wriggly Carianne against his shoulder, his other hand gripped by a thigh-high Jedi from the dark side of the force.

Theo had evidently abandoned his 'Tiny Tycoon' trend of dressing, during which he wore smart trousers, shirt, tie and waistcoat for all occasions― including football. The current 'look' involved a dark cloak (with a good swish), a beige judo suit and brown belt, and sandals. Apart from the little hand wrapped round Denny's fingers, Theo was completely obscured by his cloak. Rosalee bit back a chuckle: the effect would've been so much more fearsome if Theo had been perhaps another three feet taller.

"Good morning, Lord Vergeer," she greeted smoothly, and Theo gave her a silent and solemn nod.

"Morning darlin'. Coffeeeeee..." Denny bent way down to peck her on the cheek and she returned it, also trying to land a kiss on the tiny, fidgety girl trying to climb up his face.

"C'mon in, hon."

"You alright? Braxton Hicks getting any closer together?"

She nodded breathlessly. "A little. The worst thing is the bloating. Horrible. I feel like an over-inflated balloon."

Denny shot her a lopsided smile. "You're one of the better-looking balloons I've seen."

She blushed and followed Theo down the passageway, who held open the inner shop door for her and leant on it to keep it open.

"After you," he intoned from inside his cloak.

Rosie paused to have a silent sentimental fit. At only three, Theo was already showing all the signs of either absorbing or inheriting Jan's sense of chivalry, depending on which side of the nature-nurture debate one stood on. She couldn't help herself and reached a hand into the huge hood, ruffling the soft hair in there. "You are so sweet."

"Hmmm. Thank you," said the Sith Lord.

"Don't ever stop being such a little gentleman, alright?" She felt a little misty as Theo gestured her firmly through the doorway. "You are _so _much like your daddy."

"Yes, alright Aunt Rosie! Shake a leg, this door's heavy!"

She sighed. "And really quite a lot like your... Denny, too."

Awkward finish, she realised, and bustled her way to the kitchenette out back to make sure that the percolator was still warm. It was: almost as warm as her cheeks. Thank god for late pregnancy - it explained away the most ferocious of blushes. She'd so nearly said 'step father', again, even though Jan and Denny had made it overtly clear to everyone in their little social group that, for the forseeable future, they were housemates, and the closest of friends. Rosalee couldn't help feeling that, for all their concerns about not confusing Jan's kids, they were so clearly a couple in every way… except for actually being a couple. She needed to learn to stick her inner romantic cheerleader in a quiet room and lock the door.

"Ow - bugger!" Denny muttered from behind her, and she heard clattering as things dropped from the table onto the floor.

She turned to see him trying to peel Carianne off his face so he could see where he was going. She now had her arms wrapped possessively round his head.

"Oi Pickle, could you _not_ do that? I might be half ogre but there are parts of me that are still going to really smart if I catch them on something pointy!"

Rosalee giggled. "Need help?"

"If you wouldn't mind!" he muffled from behind Carrie's front, and Rosalee reached up to peel the adventurous baby away as gently as possible.

"What's Carrie doing?" Monroe asked suddenly, emerging from front of shop.

"Being clingy - ow, ow, ow... hair! - she's had a whole golden week of dad-dad-dad, so now Jan's finally taken a morning out to help Bud set up the Winterfest, she's come over a bit insecure."

Monroe cast her a wild expression of panic as she tried detaching Carrie from Denny's head, having to almost bend him double so she could reach properly. Eventually she got Carrie free and handed her back to Denny. Monroe remained wide-eyed. Poor honey: so worried about everything, and probably now panicking about how he'd fit little bursts of infant insecurity into his rigid schedule, which had been re-designed five times to accommodate different schools of feeding practice. She gave him a reassuring smile and squeezed his fingers as he wandered over to her.

"Ah... is that... typical behaviour? Y'know... for her age?"

"Oh yeah! She's two months, give or take. A bit of a tantrum when dad goes AWOL is part of the typical package, really. What's slightly _less _typical is her fierce bloody grip." Denny wedged her between his forearm and chest and formed a barrier between her fists and his chin with his spare palm. "Flaming Koninglowen. Don't know your own strength, do you?"

"Have you seen any Klaustreich in her yet?"

"Nah. Not physically at least. But she's only quarter Klaustreich anyway. And Koninglowen tend to be a dominant breed, so… that part of her may never show up. It hasn't with Theo, at least, and he's coming up to the right sort of age for his first woge."

Theo tugged on Monroe's hand and beamed cheesily from the depths of his hood. "Where's the lego?"

"Bottom shelf of the book-case, next to the stuffed lemur."

Rosalee frowned. "I thought we got rid of that?"

"'We' didn't get rid of it at all," Monroe said mildly, "Though I noticed you gave it a very good try. On a number of occasions."

"It's a flea farm!" she protested, but really it was just the evil stare that lived on the creature's face that creeped her out.

"It is not a flea farm. It's a beautiful thing that took me hours to do at taxidermy class."

"It's bloody horrible!" Denny observed.

Theo didn't care: he just moved the ghastly creature out of the way and lifted the heavy box up over his head onto the counter, scrambling up onto the high stool. Apart from Monroe's coffee cup, the counter was absolutely impeccably neat and Rosalee had to purse her lips as Theo upended the box of Lego all over it, making Monroe gasp as half of it scattered across the floor as well. Theo started building something at the speed of light, making him catch his elbow on a pot of pens and scatter those across the floor just for variety.

Rosalee wrapped her arms around Monroe and rubbed his back. His OCD was getting so bad. They had to have this baby: meet the little guy at last and get on with the next phase of their lives. He would be fine, then. It was just short-term uncertainty that he didn't cope well with.

Even Denny noted him paling and put a steadying hand out. "You alright, mate?"

Monroe gulped and his voice went into a squeak. "That's my tidying he's… untidying!"

"Mate… You're about to enter a world of miniature but comprehensive bodily functions. You'll get to a point where your idea of tidying up before leaving the house is wiping the carrot off your face and sleeve. It's really, really time to let go of the 'tidy' thing."

Rosalee watched Monroe release his pent breath and try to smile and was proud of him.

"It's ok. I'm fine. Got a grip. Just need my coffee, and I'll be absolutely ok… all over again. I'm just not so great at sudden obstacles right now." He reached for his coffee and it was nowhere to be seen. "Uh, Theo? Where's my cup?"

Theo pointed at the little lego house, enclosed on all sides. "In there."

"Dude! Highly inconvenient!"

"It's keeping warm!"

"Of course it is." Monroe straightened and headed for the percolator. "No trouble… I'll just make another. Anyone for more?"

"Yep! Coffee needed here, urgently."

Rosalee met Denny's eye and grinned. Much, much later, when tiny man finally arrived, she and Denny would finally confess that the big guy was sticking around to keep him calm. Not her. But for the time being, she was relieved to have him around.

That ache in her pelvis was just getting heavier and heavier.

_TBC…_


	2. The boldening of Bud

_**Chapter two... 'The boldening of Bud', in which Monroe muses upon which aspects of fatherhood he's getting so stressed about, and in which Bud gets a few things out of his system and comes very close to telling his mother in law to go and boil her head.**_

_**Only very close, mind. He is Bud, after all, and this is only the second chapter, lol.**_

_**In keeping with my threat of shorter chapters to upload quicker (and spend less time faffing)… here we go. Coming soon… the gang get to the Winterfest! **_

_**Thanks all for the really lovely reviews! Ruth, thanks very much for sending the block-eating worms. They arrived safely from your router wearing amazon gift wrap and looking very annoyed ;)**_

_**I hope you continue to enjoy xxxxx**_

**X x X**

Monroe knew it wasn't polite to keep checking the time while in company, but professional habits and a vague wonder of where the hell Nick had gotten to kept steering his gaze back towards the clock. It was a quarter before eight already. Not that his arrival was as critical as it had been first thing in the morning, of course: Rosie was having a good day: unsteady on her feet but level with the horm―

"Monroe! Focus! An evil laugh, please?"

He turned back to the two expectant faces. Three if you counted Carrie's stare from behind her pet banana (crossed eyes, made with felt and coated in dribble.) He shook himself awake a little.

"Oh! Sorry... yeah." He rubbed his hands menacingly in the Vader style. "Mwahaha."

"Oh Mon-roooe! He doesn't laugh like that!"

Monroe looked at Denny in mute appeal, but he simply got a helpless shrug in reply that was almost unhelpful enough to compete with one of his own. "So how _does_ he laugh?"

"You could try a little bit more villainy, mate."

"I can't do villainy on tap!"

"What are you talking about? You're a Blutbad! How hard can it be?"

"That was low," Monroe cautioned. But let it pass. "Alright. Uh... 'Mwah-hahahaaaa?'"

Theo narrowed his eyes but at least didn't reject his second effort outright. "Hmm. It needs to be more wheezy."

Denny, Carrie and banana looked similarly unimpressed. Monroe felt a little cornered. "Guys, can I just point out that Lord Vader wasn't _really_ the laughing type? He was much more your kiss-me, laser-me, let-me-crush-your-rebellion… kinda... guy."

"Look, Theo's already shoved physical characterisation into a cocked hat by casting me as Yoda, so...with a bit of imagination... I'm sure you can come up with a dark chuckle of some sort." Denny frowned at the cross-legged Sith. "Theo - you're squirming. Go to the loo!"

"Den-neee! You're supposed to be Yod―"

"Fine!" He sighed. "Wet pants you will have, if sod off to the loo you do not!"

Apparently satisfied by Denny's return to character, Theo pulled up his hood and swept off to the bathroom, responding to Rosalee's offer of help with an exasperated "Sith, Aunt Rosie! Sith!"

They watched Theo disappear to the dark side of the shop and collapsed into the counter seats, exhausted. Carrie idly stuck her wet banana in Denny's ear, leading to a swift arm-change and appalled, vigorous head rubbing.

"How do you keep up with them, Denny?"

"Who says I do? I manage to make a right balls-up of at least three things a day. You can only do what you can do. Keep 'em safe. Try to keep 'em reasonably polite. That's a good start. Then work on tricky stuff, like education. And making them eat their veggies."

That what was worrying him. One of the many, many things worrying him.

There was so much wesen parenthood stuff that he didn't know and they hadn't really had much time to prepare. They'd spoken to other Fuschbau parents, and other Blutbad parents, but mixed couples were very slow in coming forward. Apart from Jan, of course. But as Denny pointed out, Theo hadn't displayed anything but his Koninglowen biology as yet, and it was impossible to see anything in Carrie except the Siegbarste's possessive reflex... and then again, that could simply be her age. Or total adoration of her adopted 'pet Denny.'

He watched Denny expertly open a bottle, produce a pre-mix carton and snip the corner with a penknife, pour it into the bottle and do it up again - single-handedly. That was his military training showing: calm, efficient, and well-coordinated. Oddly, this relaxed him a little: Denny's deftness with the equipment was just dexterity and experience. He had the dexterity in heaps and piles as a horologist, was happy to learn the skills, and he was grateful that his friends were around to help them cut a few experimental corners by sharing their lists of 'things to do/avoid'. It was a growing document on their fridge, added to whenever anyone came by. Some were more detailed than others.

_Put tarpaulins over your clocks during feeding time. (Hank)_

_Under 1s + soup + spoon = no (Denny)_

_It is not socially acceptable to sit on your 2-year-old when getting their socks on. So don't be seen doing it. (Livvy)_

_Always slow down on the corners when chasing a toddler (Nick)_

The latest addition was from Jan, as brief as ever:

'_Get a key for the disabled toilets. You can buy them online. You will never feel safe leaving a buggy outside a public washroom and many of them are too squalid to contemplate taking them in for safety. Most disabled toilets have a baby change. Keeping a key will save you from looking for having to look for an attendant, and also the slight embarrassment of having to gate-crash the ladies' bathroom.'_

The practical stuff was helping. He needed the tangibles. He could _cope _with the tangibles, the knowledge to absorb, and the check-lists. Weridly, his biggest worry was how worried he was _going_ to be. He was petrified of clamping up and draining the joy out of the birth and the first few weeks for both himself and for Rosalee. He could control anger, desperation, rage and lust in terms of suppressing that woge. He was a good wieder. What he wasn't so cool at was forcing himself to unwind. He just didn't know how. But then Denny had told him that he existed in a constant state of total fright to begin with, when left with Carrie and Theo, but to look at him now, he could be a second father.

Denny gave Carrie a lopsided smile as she settled in the crook of his arm and closed her hands over his fingertips as he offered her the bottle. Banana was abandoned to the floor over the side of his forearm. He raised a brow at Monroe.

"Want a cuddle? While she's reasonably placid?"

"Oh! Ah... ok..." Monroe reached forward for the holding practice and Denny stood briskly to hand her over.

"Roll your sleeves up. She likes bare arms. Don't ask."

Monroe rolled the sleeves but held the question, then she was happy to settle back and feed as the little bottle disappeared into his palm. She sucked vigorously and gave him the occasional milky grin from behind the bottle teat. He grinned down at her. Ok, he needed lots of this with his little man, and he could probably settle down a little.

Then he noticed the bottle was empty. He stared at it, then down at her innocent green-eyed stare. "That was full! It was full about ten seconds ago! Tiny chick! How d'you manage that?"

"She drinks like a Koninglowen," Rosalee murmured wonderingly, reaching over his shoulder to stroke the soft black hair.

Monroe just about remembered to sit her up lightly and pat her back, spreading the muslin over his lap to protect it. Carrie released a palm-tingling belch that was probably audible from Portland PD. He couldn't help laughing at the force of it. "Holy... crap!"

"She burps like a Siegbarste," Denny sighed proudly.

Rosalee giggled. "She'd better grow out of that, or she'll date like a Skalengekke. It's just not feminine."

"Nah, she's not going to date anyway. She's going to grow up to be the most beautiful tomboy ever but have no interest at all in men, even as they throw themselves at her feet like drunken trip hazards. Nope, she'll remain peacefully hermitted until her early thirties, thus causing me not a single grey hair until I'm seventy-something."

Rosalee ruffled Denny's hair. "I don't think that's going to happen, honey. I think you'll be sweeping lovelorn boys off your doorstep with a broom."

This sounded about right. "And both you and Jan will end up volunteering to chaperone her high school Prom, wogeing at anyone that tries to dance with her, thus smashing all the principles of the Gezetbuch Ehrencodex into little itty bits."

"If Nick ever has a kid, she's allowed to dance with him, and that's about it."

Monroe frowned. "Why Nick's kid and not ours?"

"Because your little fella will only be three months younger. Dangerous romantic territory. They'll be in the same year at school, and everything. But given how well things are going for Nick romantically speaking, right now, his mini-Grimm will be luck to be as old as 10 by the time Carrie's 16, which makes for a pretty pure dance, in my book. Right, I'm going to make sure that Darth Vergeer hasn't peed in his cloak or something."

As Denny strode off, Monroe felt a bit guilty about the level of stress he'd allowed himself to indulge over his impending fatherhood, like it was a bad thing looming, not an amazing one. Something to be really thankful for. Unless Nick sorted things out with Juliette when she came back from Vienna, he seemed doomed to remain 'Uncle Nick' for a considerable time into the future ― to everyone else's kids. And when he _did_ have his turn, Nick would be in a worse than he was in now: there may be very little information around about raising a gemischtwesen, but there was likely even less about raising a Grimm.

Speaking of which, where the hell was that Grimm?

**X x X**

It was a glorious morning. Early January, sure, but cloudless, and the sun cut through the breezeless sky, warming everything beautifully. It was more like early spring. Jan strode around the Winterfest perimeter, delighted by the speed at which their Lodge volunteers were getting the stall frames erected, the zipwire put in, and the refreshment tents set up. A couple of teen bibers had fun installing the beer taps and were giggling already. Jan glanced at them and they froze like small, round, guilty minions before scrambling back into activity, setting the tables out and trying to conceal their hiccups. Jan chuckled and moved on, crossing things off the 'to do' list.

The cool air felt strange on the back of his neck. It used to rest on (or invade) the back of his collar, but he'd had it all cut. It was shorter and blunt in front of his ears, neatly trimmed into the back of his neck, and still very thick but neater on top. At least now when he woged the mane would just reach his shoulders. Before, his mane had been halfway down his back before he shifted back to human and it was an absolute nightmare trying to clean stray hairs off. Sally, the manager of Theo's nursery, had commented that the cut took about five years off him, which was pleasing. Because he actually felt like he had years ago, before meeting his ex and her whole insidious Klaustreich tribe ― his energy and confidence fully returned and a huge pride established. But now… he had his kids and Denny. And the rest of the gang. There was no loneliness in this life.

He checked the last of the stall signs and booth-building sets off his list and sent off the delivery guy with a grateful handshake and a free coffee and bunch of snacks. They were gratefully received, but the guy still seemed rightfully bemused as to why they would go to the trouble of having a funfair in the middle of a forest. Admittedly, the trees got in the way, a little, but there were plenty of clearings for the woge-battling, the refreshment tents and so on…. They just had to sign-post everything really well. Like the children's playground: a project which Bud seemed to be taking really personally, if the loud blustering from the rearward copse was anything to go by.

Jan turned and saw Bud monologing at some considerable length while the climbing frame assembly guy stood with folded arms, chewing gum and staring flatly. Bud was sweating as he expostulated and seemed to have gone a dangerous colour. A pre-full-woge colour. Jan jogged over.

"...I mean, what age were they pitching this frame at? Did they even think about it? B-Because if you're little enough to be excited by that teeny, tiny slide, then your legs aren't going to be big enough to climb those steps to get to it. Off _this_ side of the platform you've got a climbing wall ― or a deadly drop for toddlers ― and on that side you've got monkey bars. Monkey bars! _You need to be at least six years old to have the arm strength for those_! And if you're six, how much fun are you going to have on a seven-foot slide?"

"I'm just here to put the thing together. Done that. So I'm taking my proof shots for m'boss and going. Have a nice fair."

"C'mon… just leave your tools! We'll do it different ourselves."

"No can do." The guy shrugged, and Jan notched up his jog to a run as he saw veins standing out on Bud's forehead. The bibers in the refreshment tent stopped what they were doing and turned to stare. Bud was not done.

"L-look! This thing isn't going to keep any kid's attention for more than five m-minutes! We'll have to spend the whole time either hovering for safety or… or… chasing them round the fair because they won't stick to the play area, and I got other stuff I need to do today and I DON'T HAVE ENOUGH PAIRS OF HANDS!"

As Bud exploded into stressed fur and bucked teeth, Jan got between them, jerking his head meaningfully at the frame assembly-guy to make himself scarce for a moment. The guy scuttled away gratefully to have a smoke in the cabin of his truck.

Jan looked down, concerned, as his friend strode up and down. This clearly wasn't about climbing frames. Or at least, not _just_ about climbing frames. "Bud? You alright?"

"N-No thought goes into anything!" He spluttered, breathing like a man nearly drowned. "It makes me mad! If―If I decided I was gonna put a fridge door back upside down 'cause it's easier to do it that way, would I get paid? No! W-Would I get re-hired? No way! But the guy who designed THAT-" he pointed vigorously at the ill-constructed monstrosity, "the guy that designed THAT is probably driving around in an Au-Audi, drinking at Starbucks and feeling REALLY HAPPY WITH HIMSELF!"

"Alright Bud, stop." Jan clamped his hands down on the stress -vibrated shoulders, found the little pressure point running down from the back of the neck on the left side and squeezed lightly. Bud looked up, all confused at first as Jan applied pressure, then went completely cross-eyed. Then quiet. His breathing slowed and he shifted slowly back to human in a disorganised, pitiful sort of way, parts of him de-furring faster than others. He got there in the end, though, his teeth retracting one at a time.

Bud wiped his face with shaky palms to check that he was still there, in his socially-acceptable skin. "Th-thanks. Did I... FULL woge?"

"No, but you weren't far off it. Are you ok?"

"I-I think so... a little woozy, maybe."

Jan guided him over to an upturned crate and pushed him lightly down on it while he mopped his face, one elbow propped on a knee, the other hand clamped white-knuckled round the edge of the crate. The Bibers in the tent were bustling around again, pretending they hadn't seen anything, except for Bud's wife Janie, who was looking painfully out at him, and her sister Sally, who had a hand on her shoulder. Bud gave Janie a vague sort of wave.

"How did you do that? I felt my pulse just... drop."

Jan chuckled. "I'm not sure what it is ―I only know it works. When I was a teenager, my mother had to do that to me from time to time, usually when I was fighting with the thermostat or VCR. Occasionally she overdid it and turned me into a noodle. Would you like some tea?"

Bud shook his head vigorously. "N-no thanks. Well, actually I'd love some. But there's a lady in the tea tent who I'd... no thanks, no tea just now."

Behind Janie and Sally, Jan saw an elegant blonde lady in her early seventies, all briskness and Jane Fonda hair, bustling about and rearranging the drink carafes and cookies that Bud had spent a good half hour laying out. Jan couldn't help noticing that she had a lot of consideration for applying her own order to things, but less consideration for hygiene. Bud, bless him, had put disposable gloves on while piling the cookies onto the plates.

"Your mother in law?" Jan asked quietly, and at Bud's unusually miserable nod, sighed. "Ok. I'll get your tea. Milk and two sugars?"

"Lots and lots and lots of both this time, p-please, th-thank you very much."

Jan went and fetched, feeling that it was a measure of how out of sorts Bud was that he let him do it, rather than subjecting him to ten minutes of wesen-rank anxieties about Koninglowen making drinks for Eisbibers. He collected Bud's tea and his own coffee, then stopped at the truck where the climbing frame assembly guy was just loading everything back inside. He only had to explain that Bud was trying to make an event successful under the interfering eyes of his mother in law, then spend a few minutes nodding sympathetically while assembly guy muttered about how unreasonable bosses could be if their frames weren't followed exactly 'to spec', with photo evidence. Jan provided him with a generous deposit for the safe return of his tools, and took the box over to Bud, holding the drinks in his other hand.

Bud's eyes brightened hugely when he explained that they could probably make some amendments to the design to split up the 'little people' and 'littler people' sections.

"Oh.. that... that's just such a weight off my mind. Thank you."

"Perilous climbing frames aren't really something I'd given much thought to," Jan admitted. "Theo's balance is good enough that I never felt the need to 'hover'."

"Matty's the same," Bud said. "He could probably go to sleep on top of the climbing wall without falling off, but if I'm not standing really close when he's clambering around, Betty does 'the eyebrows' at me."

"She's critical?"

"Yeah. N-not in the in-your-face way, just more... I could do everything 'a little differently', apparently."

Jan winced. No wonder the poor man was so highly strung. Dealing with three of his own children, an adoptee in Matty, and having to keep it all together under the disparaging eyes of his mother's wife… he shuddered. "Grinding criticism is the worst. And when you rise to it, you get accused of getting all het up over a 'helpful suggestion'."

Bud sagged with relief. "I-I was beginning to think it was just me over-reacting to everything."

"That's what it's meant to do," Jan muttered, thinking of his father and sister. "Look, next time she makes a 'suggestion' and you end up feeling riled, ask yourself whether you would've felt equally upset if Nick, Rosalee, Denny or Hank had made the same comment. Because then you'll have a better idea of whether you were upset that your idea was rejected, or about the way it was done."

"Are you talking from experience?"

"Oh yes." Jan nodded and sipped at his coffee.

"So what do I do? Because there's been a lot of that lately. She's not very convinced about Janie and I trying to adopt Matty. Him being half-biber, half-lowen, and all. S-she seems to think it'll make things difficult for the whole family. That _I'm_ making things difficult for the whole family."

"She's not spotted that Janie wants to adopt him too, then?"

"Apparently not! No, this is all my terrible idea, and I'm pressuring Janie into it."

"Of course. Because your reputation for bullying knows no bounds, Bud." Jan sipped his coffee.

Unexpectedly, Bud tittered, even as he carried on wiping his face off. "You know what? I don't think this is even about family. I think she just can't handle Matty 'cause he'll go right from stacking things to growling if she messes him around."

"And yet YOU handle Matty absolutely fine ― half-Lowen or not. Perhaps she's a little unnerved that you're made of sterner stuff than she thought."

Bud sat up a little straighter. "Am I?"

"You've earned the respect of a Grimm. And become good friends with a Koninglowen, a Blutbad, a Fuschbau and a Siegbarste―"

"Uh... she doesn't know about Denny being Siegbarste. She just assumes that he's also Koninglowen because she thinks he's your boyfri- AGH!"

Jan chuckled as Bud ran off the edge of the conversational cliff, flailed, then plummeted down to the gritty ground of awkwardness. He threw him a rope. "Relax, Bud, it's alright. I know our arrangement is a little difficult for some people to get their heads around."

"Like our mutual friend and social-worker, Mrs Greenaway?"

That woman was such a monumental pain in the posterior. She meant well, was kindly, and even Theo could now chat to her without voicing his political dissent by doing a raspberry, but she had plenty to say about Denny living with him and the kids 'within very uncertain emotional parameters,' citing the Nursery Christmas family photo by way of example. Of _course_ Denny was in that: Theo would've had a tantrum if he got left out. What infuriated Jan about her approach was that she continuously operated on the basis that they were having a relationship in secret to 'protect the children'. This was exactly what they weren't doing. It was a mutual decision to get to know each other better and get some sort of rhythm into their lives as friends. If it went beyond that, and the children were happy about it, they would be out as a couple. Public. But never hiding. For a Jagerbarin, so sensible with her wesen issues, Mrs Greenaway could be remarkably blind to the human ones.

"I preferred Cleo Granger," Jan muttered. He had very fond memories of Mrs Greenaway's predecessor. Some of those memories were cuddly and horizontal.

"Yeah, she was nice. Not so traditional and disapproving of everything." Bud's eyes snapped wide open again. "N-not that you and Denny are doing anything to disapprove of! God, no. And it's your own business, y'know, whether you're sharing um… ah… a garage and living room or not. Or, even if you _were_ together, it wouldn't matter to any of your friends because we can all see him being your partner, other half, um―"

"Thanks for the blessing," Jan said, touched, but steered the conversation gently on. "So what are you going to do about Betty? Because you and Janie have made up your minds. Matty will be yours. She needs to learn to live with it, but in the meantime, you need to be able to live with her."

"I dunno. Any tips you can give to stem the tide of disapproval… th-that would be great. Oh, just to give you an example, I mentioned over dinner the other night that I wasn't so big on fridges anymore. Now it's kinda halfway round town that I'm gonna throw the business in and campaign for children's climbing rights, and that I'm a damn fool for doing so. Anything you can tell me to deal with that stuff…. Please!"

"Be stubborn, but be mercilessly pleasant."

"Oh. I hoped you'd give me permission to sit on her or something."

Jan laughed. "You don't need my permission for that, Bud. I'd pay to see it. But seriously, keep your foot down and your tone friendly and even. That way, if she keeps on at you, it's going to be her that ends up sounding shrill. Not you."

Bud's nose wrinkled a little as the woman herself swept over, just as they were getting ready to re-build the frame. "Uh oh. Looks like I'm about to get some practice."

"Mercilessly pleasant," Jan reminded, and moved himself out of the way to start removing the monkey bars. Bud beamed suspiciously at his mother in law as she approached, showing so many teeth that even Janie looked unsettled. Jan bit his lip and got stuck into the dismantling.

It became pretty clear pretty quickly that Bud was having to hold his ground on the reasons for taking the frame apart and rebuilding it, but Jan was pleased to see him holding his shoulders back, trying to look relaxed, and filling his conversation with 'I see what you means'. Followed by 'I'm going to do it this way anyway's. It wasn't precisely the brand of merciless pleasantry that Jan had in mind, but it was a step in the right direction in terms of Bud putting his foot down.

"Need a hand?"

The low voice came from the other side of the monkey bars and Jan saw Renard standing opposite with hands in his pockets, wearing jeans, boots and a Ralph Lauren short-sleeved grey teeshirt. Jan pointed to the tool box. "Thank you. There are a few spanners in there. Are you here on canton business, or police district business?"

"Both. On the face of things, I'm here to help you promote the special constabulary."

"And underneath that?" Jan raised his brows slightly, hoping that no sneaking, intelligence-seeking, stalking or coercing was going to take place during the Winterfest. A lot was riding on the success of today, socially….

"I fancy candy floss," Sean evaded neatly. "And a go on the test-your-strength machine. But don't worry. There's not going to be any... trouble."

"Glad to hear it," Jan replied. "If you _do_ have any trouble, Hank, Denny and I will be your 'heavies' today. I'm sure we can find discreet ways of removing 'troublemakers' from the fete. I want Nick to have a good time today. It's important that people get to meet 'Nick', not the Grimm. Besides, he has duties."

"Duties?"

Jan took a few more of the monkey bars down from the parallel bars and dropped them down to the grass. "Apart from the responsibility for being duct-taped to Monroe to keep him company, Nick will also doing the children's face painting. They will take a dim view if he has to rush off and be violent somewhere."

"Does Nick know about these grim duties, yet?"

"No."

Sean smiled slightly. "Can I be there when you tell him?"

**X x X**

_**TBC… coming soon… the danger of competitive wesen…Nick's artistry is challenged and slightly mocked, and Wu arrives at the Winterfest…**_


	3. Wicked ways of weeny wesen

**Hey guys, thanks for the awesome reviews! Really nice of you and I hope that I can take into account as much as possible going forward in terms of silly mini-scenes :)**

**Helena (guest), If you get to this story anytime soon, I just wanted to say thanks for your really sweet reviews on my other stories – this is the only way I can thank you or answer your questions while you're signed in as a guest, you see, because I can't PM you. You're welcome to PM me, of course, I just wanted to say hi and thanks! **

**I hope you continue to enjoy. The trouble starts even before the fair does… **

**X x X**

Nick's bladder was screaming as he pounded on the spice shop's front door and he had only himself to blame: it was only as he was peeling off the ringway to rejoin Portland Central that he realised that the Toyota was running on fumes.

The fumes would get him to the spice shop but not to the Briar close afterwards, so they diverted to get gas. And then Matty did his Houdini act and it took a good ten minutes to find him stacking the pinecones in the picnic area behind the gas station shop and café. Then Matty needed to take a pee ― his diaper not man enough to stand up to the job ― and naturally the café at the gas station didn't have a WC. By the time they'd cleaned Matty up and were halfway back to the spice store, Nick himself was on the verge of driving cross-legged. He stepped up the pounding.

"Alright, alright!" Monroe yelled from inside. "You being set on by killer voles out there, or something?"

"URGENT!" he yelled back, and as soon as there was so much as a child-sized crack in the opened door, Nick shot past Monroe and towards the private washroom.

"Nick, Denny's in th— … Nick! No!" Monroe pursued him down the passageway. "Look I get that you're desp― oh..hell! Rosie! Where's the aspirator….?"

The extent of Monroe's blithering gave Nick pause, but a moment too late: momentum carried him into the bathroom and straight into a thick cloud of deodorant. He coughed wildly and tried flapping it out of his face to no avail.

"Oi!"

"Needthecan!"

"Can bloody see that! Impatient little sod…"

Denny made a swift exit and Nick did what he needed to do, very _very_ quickly, his eyes watering. Then actively flooding his face. His vision went blurry, then grainy and as he fumbled for the washbasin, he couldn't see at all because he could barely pull his eyes open. And his chest _hurt_. He drew breath to ask Denny what the hell kind of products he was using but itchy air hit the back of his throat and he broke into a racking coughing fit. He cleaned his hands by feel and staggered out into the passageway, where everyone was apparently ready for him.

Running straight into the hard wall of Denny's front, he felt a hand clamp down on his shoulder to steady him.

"Right son, breathe in... NOW! Think of your library fines or something. Sharp intake… good lad."

Something hard and plasticy was shoved into his mouth and he felt four chalky blasts of puffer being thrust down his throat. It helped to reopen his airways, but it took another few moments on the couch sucking in the oxygen from a nebuliser on high pressure (and with a cold cloth over his eyes) to start feeling less physically sieged. He groaned hoarsely and felt a timid little tug on his sleeve.

"Favrit Grimm ok?"

He felt for the top of Matty's head and ruffled it. "I'll be alright, little man." Speaking still hurt in between the splutters. He pushed himself more upright. "What the HELL was that?"

"Dude... NEVER stand behind a deodorising Siegbarste. It's right at the top of The Modern List Of Wesen Nevers! Just a couple of spots down from 'Never lick a Grimm!'"

"How about 'never share a bathroom with a non-queuing Grimm?' There's another one for your list!"

"Amen!" Livvy chimed in.

Nick gingerly peeled the cloth off his eyes and managed to focus on the blurry assembly standing around the couch. "Denny, where the hell do you get that stuff? The 'disarming deodorant' section in Walmart?"

Denny jiggled Carrie sulkily. "It's bespoke, actually. A new Dr Maier product."

"Cops could carry that stuff for protection!" Nick spluttered, still having to wipe moisture off his face.

"Oh, you already do, hon. The chemical base is pepper spray. It's a denser moisture base - holds the deodorising element better."

Nick took the glass of water and pills pressed into his hands gratefully and swallowed them down. "How come Denny doesn't choke to death each time he uses it? Am I just allergic, or something?"

"Well if you are, Jan is too. We had him in here face-down and choking on a bed for about two hours last week," Monroe comforted, but bent down and peered intently into his face. "Can you even see? I'm just thinking it might be better if I drive."

"Ok." That suited him, actually. He could maybe have a beer or three and it might loosen him up to deal more tactfully with Wu, if Hank found himself unable to answer certain questions. Apparently Wu wanted to go for simple, so, not lots of hard german names, but the type of animal likeness and the word 'wesen' as a description of the deeper 'spirit' of whoever he was talking about. Wu could 'do' spirits, he reckoned. He'd just pretend it was a really, really extended version of the zodiac, or something, where there weren't a lot of bulls walking the streets, but there were a lot of Taureans. Nick thought it was a pretty good way to introduce the milder wesen. He'd tell Wu about the nastier ones… later. Or at least, the nastier-behaved ones.

Nick swung his legs off the side of the couch and made to stand, but was firmly pressed back down again.

"Nope, stay there till you're less wheezy. If you need to be useful, Pickle here thinks you look comfy and wants a cuddle. Now."

Nick found his arms full of Carianne before he had a chance to protest, not that he was inclined to. She was as delighted to see him as ever and sat on his front, burbling happily, propped up in his hands while Livvy refereed an argument between Theo and Matty over proper lightsabre technique. He felt better in a couple of minutes with someone else to look after, but was relieved to see Denny return when she became increasingly determined to shove her wet banana down his shirt.

"Right, just bit more stuff to load, if you're up to it."

He was. Nick grunted as he staggered down the sidewalk with an ice box, destined for the electricity supply in the Denny's. The box made Juliette's encyclopaedias of animal husbandry feel like a box of popcorn in comparison and his shoulders burned with lactic fury as he kept up with Rosalee, who moved damn fast for a woman on the verge of labour.

"Rosie? What's…in… this?"

"My tools for Portland domination. I'm stamping my authority as the new Calvert in town."

Hank caught up alongside Nick, carrying Rosalee's handbag and nothing else, which Nick felt was a non-equal distribution of weight and labour. "You've been the new Calvert for an age. I thought you'd dominated Portland months and months ago?"

"You're very sweet, but there are still guys who swing by and ask 'Catch of the Day'. Hence the cool boxes. The first asshole who tries that today is going to get a free anchovy, courtesy of Captain Woolley's catch of... two weeks ago. Don't open those boxes, whatever you do. The smell will make you faint." She loaded the bags she was carrying into the trunk and locked the handbag into the glove box before heading back to the shop.

Hank scratched his head as they jogged back after her. "Rosie… if you don't want guys to think you sell any fish… why are you taking fish with you?"

"Nick, explain!"

Nick ran Hank through the wesen background of the 'the case with the freaky random operations on teenagers in a barn', explaining the very end product of the harvested organs. As he finished, pleased with his succinctness, Hank paled, tinted to winter-green, then leant against the wall outside the shop.

"You're saying… that those shrivelled human organs were used to make furry Viagra? They were ground, turned into pills and those shrivelled organ pills were then…swallowed, and…?"

"Pretty much."

"Oh…God…" Hank put his hand over his mouth and nose and breathed heavily into his palm for a moment. He seriously looked like he was going to hurl.

"Hank… you alright?"

"No! Jeez…I don't know what time lunch was going to be, but now it's going to be later." He straightened and shook his head briskly, still shuddering slightly.

Rosie re-emerged from the shop, holding a little box under one arm and a pot in the other hand. "On a serious note guys, there is a new 'catch of the day'. This is the swazi aloe. The first big batch."

Nick took the nice, light box and pot quickly, leaving Hank with the crate of 100 infant assordisantes. The pot just looked like a little tub of moisturiser in a delicate shade of lilac. For a little pot of cream, it was life-changing stuff. It reduced and soothed physical trauma from multiple, involuntary shifts — which wesen of mixed breed were even more vulnerable to. It was an evolution in wesen medicine to be kept as quiet as possible: it made it safer to be gemischtwesen. The Verrat would never approve.

He turned the pot over in his hands in some wonder. "It's under production already?"

She nodded proudly. "I've learned a fair amount about running a business over the last year or so. One of the benefits of maintaining 'good relations with your stakeholders', as the boring books put it, is that your suppliers will often do you a favour if you ask nicely. And when of your 'stakeholders' has his own pharmaceutical firm... it's handy. Dr Maier produced 100 pots from formula over the last couple of weeks."

He smiled wryly. "Looks like he's coping well with being 'fired' from the Laufer."

"He was angry at first. Especially with the high-handed way that Sean did it. But... with producing this stuff, he gets to work on something a little underhand, which makes him feel like he's still frustrating the Verrat in some way."

Hank frowned. "How will people know to ask for it?"

"They'll ask for 'the palliative'. I've sent word around."

Nick rested the pot on the box and carried it over to his car, being really careful with it. Monroe swept up alongside with a half-full crate of treatment pamphlets and popped the balanced cream pot into his load.

"Let me ease your burden, brother."

Nick chuckled. "Thanks. That weighed a tonne." He dropped his voice a little. "Hey... have you and Rosalee settled on a name yet?"

"Oh yeah, we're both determined on a name."

"The same name?"

"Of course not. Because that would be harmonious and simple. No, she's insistent that he's going to be Anton. I'm insistent that he's going to be Bruno. What do you think?"

Nick kept looking down as he walked, really not prepared to get in the middle of it. "Ah... I'm just glad that you've abandoned Edvard, Horton and Arsenal."

"Ansell, Nick. Not Arsenal. That's the kind of thing that a Grimm calls his son." Monroe chuckled. "Look, while we're murmuring, d'you think we need to have a guy-to-guy talk with Denny about the dangers of sending mixed messages?"

"Why?"

Nick turned to see Denny giving Livvy his car keys, handing Carianne to her, and then sweeping her off her feet to carry her to the Landrover, while Matty and Theo banged her crutches down the road after them. Nick had to stop looking: her white happy glow was painfully bright. He thought that only Grimms and fellow Andersens could see the glow, both of them being kinds of 'Intuitivs', but then Denny staggered slightly off-course. But it just turned out that he caught a faceful of reflected sun from the sequins on Livvy's sparkly tank.

"Blimey Livs, that's a rather... arresting top!"

"I'm a cop. Got lots of arresting tops."

Denny flicked an affectionate eye-roll, chuckling. "Livs…that was _silly_. What was it?"

"Witty!"

"No it wasn't, it was bloody silly..."

Their chuckling carried on as Denny loaded her and kids into the Landrover. Nick looked back at Monroe and nodded slightly. "Yeah. That kind of thing is really not going to help her crush."

"So… you going to talk to him?"

"Me?" Nick clambered hastily into Beetle's shotgun seat. "Since when am I any good at that stuff?"

"You're not, you're grim—"

"Funny!"

"But if you're going to look after your girl-pal properly, you've got to get good at it. And I'm… kinda going to have my hands full. Ideally very, _very_ soon."

"Alright..." Nick had no idea how he'd start that particular conversation. It was one he might delay if possible, at least until Mini-Monroe was born. And work on keeping Denny and Livvy apart in the meantime.

They all got buckled up and Monroe looked at him seriously. "Have you been to the can?"

"Oh shut up!" Nick laughed though, as they hit the main road. "Any idea who's doing what at the fair yet?"

Hank piped up. "Jan's got us all looking after some kind of event. Not sure what, yet. He said it'd change hour-on-hour until we turned up, depending on how reliable the volunteers were. Presumably Livvy's helping with the stall?"

"No!" Rosalee yelled and Monroe nearly sent the Beetle Toyota crashing into the central reservation.

"Rosie!"

"Sorry hon, didn't mean to shout. It's just… I _cannot_ have that. I will actively campaign against it. No. I love her _so_ much as a buddy but... just think about her total lack of brain-mouth filter!"

Nick laughed. "Ah... yeah. I can just see her having a loud, friendly and frank conversation with some guy trying to discreetly buy tincture of poppy prickle."

"What's that?" Hank asked.

Rosalee explained.

"Man! Do wesen guys buy anything other than stuff to help with their 'romantic stamina'?"

"Occasionally!" Monroe protested. "Sometimes we buy stuff for stiffness."

"Alright, I'm putting my iPod on for the rest of this journey."

Nick chuckled as Hank isolated himself in the tinny sounds of James Brown. He risked a glance sideways at Monroe. "How you doing?"

"Ok, right now, actually! Thanks. Your little pepper emergency gave me something else to think about earlier. Pretty helpful."

"Glad to be of service."

"Operation life-as-normal is helping. A lot. I only did some minor-league moulting this morning."

"Debateable!" Rosie called from the back seat, but smiled as she met Nick's eyes in the mirror. "No, really. It's helping, having everyone around. It's a good distraction from this triplicate period pain sensation."

Monroe whipped round in his seat, forcing Nick to lunge sideways to control the wheel. "What? Honey! Why didn't you say?"

"Because I could be having this feeling for another two days before any contractions start. Operation life-as-normal, remember? Now turn round before you kill us."

"Are you su—"

"Get!"

Monroe turned obediently and kept driving, sharing an alarmed glance with Nick. They were now both slightly beginning to wonder if this was the safest of ideas...

**X x X**

They pulled over in the parking spot indicated and released a group groan at the prospect of a two-mile trek through the woods to get to the fair. All except Denny, who disappeared into the bushes whistling and swinging a keyring round his forefinger. There was the rude sound of a 100cc engine farting into life, and then he exploded from the undergrowth in a golf-cart. A big mini-bus of a golf-cart with two sets of 'back' seats with kiddie fittings. It didn't take long for them to load up the supplies int the back of the cart, using the rear seats, too, then Denny leapt behind the wheel.

"Right.. girls and smalls, you're with me. Lads, you're on foot, I'm afraid. Race you to the fair!"

It only took them about fifteen minutes to march to the edge of the clearing. It was a half hour before fair opening and the place was already buzzing with the volunteers and their kids. Temporary signposts were hammered in everywhere, showing what events were in which copse. Bunting was strung up between the trees. There was a little 'welcome' table covered in leaflets and a box of bewildering gear, staffed by possibly the smiliest girl Nick had ever, _ever_ seen. She was in her late teens and flung happiness at them from every pore.

"Hey! Nice to see you! It's a beautiful morning! Got any little ones with you?"

Hank and Monroe beamed back at her and pointed downwards. "Just him!"

Nick reached up and cuffed them both lightly. "Our friend went ahead with the kids. What are all those gadgets?"

The girl beamed at him again ― with extra width. "They're totally cool ― GPS badges that can either link up to one of these little tracker boxes, which you carry, or you can dial the badge code into an app on your smartphones. See? These cute little badges have even got pictures on them!"

Nick stared. Wow. Even by Jan's usual standards of event preparation, it was pretty advanced stuff. Legoland hadn't been this professional. "Can several adults track the same badge number?"

"Oh yeah. The leaflet says how you do that. Jan felt that people would mingle a little more if they weren't so worried about their kids running off into the woods, which is kinda handy, since it also seems to be Star Wars day. Weirdly."

Nick couldn't THINK who might have given lots of little people the idea that it was Star Wars day. He beamed back at her ― all the smiling was a little infectious ― and took the leaflet. "Lots of cloaks, right?"

"Oh my God!" Monroe spluttered, looking through the woods to the clearings. "How many Jedi? I don't know how we'd tell them apart if it wasn't for the badge things. Wait... what if one of the badges falls off and we think the kids have staying in the playground for the last half hour?"

"Man, you gotta immediately question any immobile GPS dot supposedly attached to a toddler," Hank pointed out, grinning completely unnaturally.

"The badges cannot come off without the magnetic detacher. They're like anti-theft tags."

After a few minutes' chat with her, which none of them felt the need to terminate because frankly she was pretty cute, they were still beaming hugely as they walked away. As soon as they were out of her eyeshot, they frantically rubbed their over-exercised facial muscles. Crap, that hurt! Nick didn't consider himself unsmiley but he wasn't used to concentrated grinning, either. As they approached the double-width stall dedicated to the Wesen Wellness Centre and Spice Store, where Denny was also massaging his jaw, Monroe sped up to a near gallop.

"Rosie hon, d'you bring the numbing cream?"

She giggled and handed them an open tub of something pink. "She got us, too."

"You guys have actually have numbing cream for compulsive smiling? Wesen have some weird afflictions." Hank dived for the pot, elbowing Nick to get a scoop out and on his face.

"That stuff's pretty much as in demand as toothpaste in Portland. Have you any idea what the Eisbiber population is like?"

"What's that got to do with anything?" Nick rubbed the stuff in, hoping it wouldn't make him smell like a flower.

"You've never heard the expression Eager-Beaver? It comes from Bibers like Stacey. They can't stay still. There's nothing more they like than being insanely busy, and they produce so much of their own serotonin for small amounts of physical activity that it bursts out through the pores like pheromones, affecting everyone else."

"Are eager beavers an actual... _sub_-species of Eisbiber?"

"Not as such," Rosalee mused. "It's actually just a wide-spread Biber medical condition. Millifers suffer it, too. Personality influences how it manifests, though. Girls like Stacey are a joy to be around, if slightly painful, but others, like Bud's MIL... have to re-organise everything just to feel important and you want to hit them with a shovel."

It was said with a sweet smile, but Nick knew who he'd put his money on in a straight fight. The guys had all the stuff from the golf cart unloaded in a few minutes, then Jan bounded over with a huge bag. Nick noted the energetic step and shorter hair and almost did a double-take at the flashback he had: over five years ago, being overtaken on a flight of stairs by a vast man taking the steps 3 at a time and flashing him a boyish, welcoming grin at the top of them...

…He'd been the same old patient, polite, good humoured Jan on returning from the Netherlands, but sobered by fatherhood and the need to steer his little boy through their domestic nightmare. He'd started unwinding over the last few weeks, with Denny, but just all of a sudden it was like seeing the pre-Annalise Jan again, and Nick liked it.

"Morning gents," Jan said with a wave, and clapped his eyes greedily on the cream pot. "Flytrap nectar? Oh, thank God. Stacey had me for nearly ten minutes, earlier. I thought my face was going to fall off."

Nick caught Hank's facial expression at the key ingredient and laughed into the back of his knuckles. "Morning Jan. So... what's the slavery of the day?"

"I've split everything into morning and afternoon slots so we all get to move around, and get a little free time to wander round as guests, too. Morning slots are until half twelve. Denny, the kiddie zip-wire, please. Livvy, you're in the beer tent. There's a stool there for you."

"Yay!"

"Monroe, you'll be refereeing the woge-battling this morning, if that's alright."

Monroe pulled a face. "Uh, ok. This involves what, exactly? Some severe face-pulling?"

Hank pulled a face of his own and Nick shared their apprehension. If he was meant to be on continuous Monroe-accompaniment duty, this was somewhere he didn't really want to be when Wu showed up.

"Actually, the idea is to NOT woge. There are two podiums on a crashmat, and two giant-sized, foam q-tips. Either you bash your opponent off the podium, or you get them to woge first. Oh, and no hits round the head or between the legs. Those are the only rules."

Nick shrugged. That seemed harmless enough, and would probably only involve half-wogeing, which Wu wouldn't see. He grinned. Actually, knowing Wu, he'd want to try it himself and between his martial arts training and inability to woge... he'd probably stay on there all day. He wondered if Grimms and Royals were banned from taking part...

"Hank, could you supervise the kiddie go-kart racing? With Sean?"

"Can do that."

Nick frowned. "Renard's here?"

"I am."

The sober voice made Nick jump and he looked up and right to see Renard lurking at the edge of the Wellness table. He didn't know whether to be more startled by his presence or his appearance. Shit. Wu might not be ready to see Renard in this setting. Or in short sleeves. "What are you doing here?"

"Pleasure to see you too, Nick."

"Aren't you meant to be keeping your 'you-know-what' status firmly under wraps?"

"Yes. I'm here as the micro-managing Police Captain, refusing to let the HR director recruit new cops on his own."

"Good luck with that. Wu's not gonna buy that for two seconds."

Just for a fraction of a second, Renard's eyes widened. "Wu's coming?"

"Gents, it's fine. I've got that covered." Jan grabbed a couple of stickers saying 'KS' from a sheet in his pocket, slapping one on Hank, and one on Renard.

"Kerseite Slichkennen?" Nick asked.

"Yes, it seemed wise. And Nick can give Wu his when he shows up. They're just in case you _do_ cross paths. Ideally, you won't. And to help prevent that as much as possible..." Jan fished a piglet badge out of his pocket and clipped it to Renard's teeshirt, then texted all of them Renard's GPS number.

Renard's eyes narrowed at the indiscreet tittering rippling through the group, led chiefly by Nick. "Was there not a more intimidating design available?"

"Plenty. But you're not having one. You're here as the jolly, interfering Captain, remember? The piglet fits. Here are your recruitment leaflets, by the way."

He took the stack of Special Constabulary sign-up forms grudgingly. "I don't remember saying anything about being 'jolly'."

"My fair, my rules."

Nick nodded. "Actually, it would make sense for you to be KS. Pretty hard for you to work with a Grimm that long without realising something was strange."

"Wu managed it," Renard said darkly.

"Nick, you're on artistic duty."

"Ok." High-speed head portraits could be tricky, but he could probably just about get away with it. He took the bin-bag Jan handed him. It was pretty heavy, but then most fold-up easels were. Then he realised he couldn't feel anything large and flat in there. "Where's the canvas and paper roll?"

"What canvas? You're face-painting the little ones. At booth 86."

"What!?" It was Nick's turn to find himself in the centre of a world of sniggering. "The rest of you get to do the fun guy stuff ― even Livvy gets the beer tent ― and I get... face-painting?"

Jan rolled his eyes. "You're a good artist and natural with little kids-"

"Only the ones too small to argue with me!" Nick protested, bridling at the five-degree tilt at the corner of Renard's mouth. It wasn't quite a smirk, but it was really close. "Look, I'm no good at this. I did it a few years ago for an orphanage fair and went home completely multi-coloured. With insane eyebrows."

"Look, if it makes you feel any better, it's what I'm signed up to do all afternoon, with titchy brushes, huge hands, and not an ounce of your artistic streak. So... suck it up."

"Suck it…?"

"Leroy! Hello! Need a hand?"

Nick stared after Jan as he strode off to help the timid Maushertz set up the test-your-strength machine a few stalls down, not really remembering Jan being this merciless before. As Denny swept a giggling Livvy (and crutches) up and away to the beer tent, Nick fished the card with the selection of faces out of the bag, feeling Monroe and Hank slide behind him, and inspected his choices. A panda. A piggie. A tiger...

"What... no Hasslich?" Monroe tutted from behind.

"He ain't got enough brown. Not enough green for a reaper, either."

"Guys!" He glowered at them both and they burst into a mock sprint to flee his terrifying rage before breaking into respective, chuckling jogs as they made their way to their various events. Renard's smirk had grown somewhat, moving east to the other side of his face. Nick smiled thinly. "Glad you're enjoying yourself."

"Hugely." Renard cleared his throat. "You're right about bumping into Wu. One thing at a time is probably for the best. I'll keep out of sight. Will you tell him about me?"

"Only if I'm forced to."

"Alright." Renard caught up with Hank, leaving Nick to unpack his gear at booth 86... which happened to be right next to Rosalee's stall. She shot him an encouraging smile, but he had the impression as she turned round that she was getting her giggling practice in early. Then Monroe called her on her cell from about 300 yards away and she rolled her eyes as she reassured him that she'd call if he needed to come back over for 'any reason'...

Nick's first customer was a three-year-old ewok with no adult in sight, but wearing a puppy badge. Nick lifted him into the bar-stool and did the strap up, then picked up the card of 'face' choices. "Ok, so which one do you want?"

The little guy didn't reply and Nick gently peeled the hood back. It was Jacob, one of Theo's nursery friends, and over whom Theo was usually fiercely protective as the 'vulnerable' cub in his little pride. No one quite knew what was wrong with him, but he didn't speak, didn't hear so well, and was constantly sick. All Nick knew was that Jacob was half Bauerschwein, and usually terribly shy. Nick tapped him on the shoulder and pointed to the 'faces card'. He'd learnt a little ASL over the years, and managed _which one?_

Jacob pointed, and said the first word Nick ever heard from him. "Panda."

"Alright... good for you, kiddo." Nick grinned, and got out the white paint and sponge and got to work.

Denny knew he'd forgotten something important. It nagged at him quietly, like the knowledge of a pile of dirty laundry that he'd ignored for a few days. He'd tried closing his eyes a couple of times to tease that tip-of-tongue thought over the edge of his memory threshold, but it wouldn't come. He huffed a sigh and tugged the zipwire stool from the resting point, along the 50-yard stretch of grass, and up the steps to the summit, where he rested it in its bracket. It was a rubber disc with a tall, hard centre pole, from the middle of which rose the chain leading up to the wire. It didn't look particularly... safe...

Then Jan appeared with the safety harness and the sizing board. It was a mid-thigh-high balsa-wood cut-out of a gnome, and on the front big red letters read 'you need to be me-high to ride on this.' He put it down by the staircase and stroked Carrie's head lightly as she squeaked up at him from Denny's shoulder strap, waving her toy.

"Dank je schatje, ik wil _niet_ je banaan."

"She's been offering that soggy banana to everyone. Stuck it in my ear, earlier. Revolting."

Jan laughed. "At least she's stopped trying to dive down men's shirts."

"Not entirely, mate. She's still trying to get into Nick's to investigate. Anyway, thanks for the gnome. It should stop a few accidents and arguments at least." Denny spotted his nemesis in the distance, walking away from the refreshments stall with a coffee in his hand. Tristan's dad - Ellis Barnes. "Bollocks... speaking of arguments..."

Jan followed the direction of his glare and sighed. "Oh... him. Quite honestly, I thought ― and hoped ― that he wouldn't show up today. He's supposed to be a fairly aggressive separatist. No mixed breeds, no inter-species bridge-building..."

"So why's the git got his kid in Sally's nursery? At least four of the kids are gemischtwesen, apart from Theo, and there's barely a species unrepresented in the whole place!"

"I know," Jan sighed as he helped him out of the shoulder Holster and attached Carrie to his left side. "I'm sure Sally's asked herself the same question a few times. He's not the easiest parent for her to handle. Sudden bouts of temper, unpredictable moods, wanders off when she's talking to him―"

"Well you'd expect all that. He's a buffalo."

"No, he's a complete moody cock who doesn't listen," Jan said matter-of-factly, making Denny laugh in surprise.

"Jan! And I thought you were such a nice boy."

"Not to dickheads, I'm not." Jan's face went serious. "I know we're massaging the rumour that you're Koninglowen, but we both know what you really are, and you don't follow tradition. This guy doesn't have to follow it either, but he's ..."

"A nasty piece of work?" volunteered Denny, "Yeah. He's been trying to get under my skin since Theo upstaged Tristan at the nativity play. Look Jan… I'll keep out of his way, I'll do my best to hold my temper and I won't rise to any 'queer' comments, but if he goes anywhere near the Siegbarste issue, I'm giving him a slap. Just so you know."

Denny expected Jan to cool him off, talk him round, but Jan stared into the middle distance, his fingers tickling Pickle's head, then nodded.

"Alright. Keep it to a 'tap', if you can, keep it low-profile, and don't break anything."

"Eh? Where's my pet pacifist lion king, and what have you done with him?"

Jan flashed that brilliant smile at him. "I'm still here, Denny. Personally, I'd love to shove him face-first into the candy-floss machine, but he hasn't done anything to me ― directly ― to warrant that. I don't doubt he'll try provoking you, but just promise me you won't actually start anything."

"Course not." Life was too short. And he didn't want to set the little ones a bad example.

Little ones...

The bottom of Denny's stomach seemed to drop out as he realised what he'd forgotten and he slapped his hands over his face in dismay. "Oh no… no no… Fuckadoodledoo!"

"What is it?"

"Um mate... problems! I um... I forgot to put the actual... badges... on Matty and Theo."

"Oh, Lord!" Jan ran his hands through his hair, breathed out sharply, then seemed to collect himself as he pulled his cell out. "Right... group text first, let's see where that gets us, then we'll go hunting."

"Alrighty," Denny mumbled, trying to focus on the task in hand rather than on feeling like a complete donk. Just in case Jan's text group didn't include Renard, he sent one of his own. They didn't get anything back from any of the others, so they split up. Denny headed for the go-kart racing first and Renard turned as he approached, smiling reassuringly.

"I have Theo. He's on the track."

"Oh, thank God." Denny watched eight identical Siths whipping round the track and taking the roundabout at breakneck speed, hands and feet being the only visible parts of them. "Hang on, how do you know which is Theo?"

"He's the only Dark Lord using his indicators."

Denny laughed in relief as he watched Jan's kid take a sharp bend left at outrageous speed, while flashing his back light politely. "Do me a favour? When he gets off the bike, stick this on him." He handed Renard the badge and called Jan. "Theo's sorted. Any sign of Matty?"

"Not yet. I'm trying to find him before we have to alarm Bud."

"Bugger. Yeah... Where should I go first?"

"Could you do a perimeter run? I'm organising a discreet search in the fair area itself."

"Yep. Keep me posted." Denny jogged off, weaving through the trees, hoping they'd track the little guy down quickly. He looked up at the branches as well as around him as he ran, pulling his teeshirt off and tucking it into his jeans. He moved and thought faster when chilly. The problem with Matty was that he was fearless, and he was already wogeing, his hands and arms more than strong enough to haul his weight up a trunk when his claws dug in. Matty's lowen would get him up a tree, sure. But his feline fear of heights would probably keep him there, as well.

**X x X**

Another cheerful little customer leapt from Nick's stool, white-faced and black-eyed, and sprinted off before he'd finished, even though he'd radically upped his game in terms of speed to give him some chance of doing the whole job before his 'clients' ran away. It was so, _so_ not going well. Each time he looked over at Rosalee her face snapped back to neutral placidity but he knew that she was silently laughing her head off in between customers. She was doing rather better than him: several boxes of stock were gone already by half twelve and at least two bemused, nauseated guys had walked away from her stall with anchovies, wondering where the hell they were going to dump them.

Wu approached from the main welcome area, early, rubbing a slight tic out the side of his face, giving a laconic wave as he approached. "Who is that girl on the desk? She some kind of Mary Poppins wesen?"

"Made you smile, did she?"

"Made me look like a perverse lunatic, more like. There's nothing to make a guy look like a jerk like grinning unstoppably in the presence of a girl wearing a low-cut top." Wu rubbed his face like mad and surveyed the scene in his usual unemotional way, noticing principally the little people running around and Nick, with the sponge still in his hand.

"Well, Nick. Look who's using his artistic talents... uh... Is the Alice Cooper look appropriate?"

"Just don't... ask.. about the kids, ok?"

Monroe appeared from the other direction, looking around in consternation at all the little white-faced, black-eyed tots running around. "Dude! What are you doing? It's like being surrounded by tiny members of the undead!"

"They're meant to be pandas!" Nick protested. "A bunch of little Seelenguten turned up and they all wanted the same thing, alright?"

"Saylen-what?"

"See-len-gut-en. Sheepish wesen," Monroe simplified for him.

"Oh, flock behaviour. Ok. That figures. But according to your little face chart, there, Pandas have black noses and the kind of cartoon cat-lip thing. Those are kind of missing from your execution of the design."

"I know!"

"Oh... c'mon Nick! You're a way, way better artist than this! I've seen your notebooks!"

Nick stepped off his chair, clenched his teeth, and put his hands on his hips. "Monroe, my notebooks don't run off before I'm done. They don't have fits of the giggles. They don't sprout whiskers. I don't have dumb adults tempting my books with ice-cream half-way through the paint job, and my books don't get distracted by super-cool climbing frames!"

"Alright, alright! Grouchy Grimm!"

Wu stuck his hand up. "Ok – education break. Nick, you're a Grimm. Ok. I get that. This means that… you're seeing whiskers on people that I'm not seeing?"

"Yeah."

"Am I likely to see them?"

Nick shook his head. "It's a happy day today, so… no."

Wu shrugged. "So far, so do-able. Continue. Oh, thanks Nick. Happy to wear this mysterious KS sticker too. Without you explaining it to me, thanks."

"It means you're human," Nick said, because that _had _to be explained if nothing else.

Monroe bit back a smirk. "Nick, I'm here to relieve you for a short while anyway. Rabe's taken over at the woge-battling, and we need you over by the zipwire to cover for Denny."

Nick concealed his inner delight. "Where's he gone?"

"Have you not been checking your phone?"

"No, I've been busy with tiny members of the undead. Remember?"

"Den's in the woods looking for Matty." Monroe dropped his voice. "Jan's told Bud already so he's primed, and is still just about breathing, but Jan's ready to put a tannoy out, when he can get that awful woman on the information desk off the microphone."

"That tannoy _is_ starting to drive me a little nuts," Nick agreed, and by way of justifying his annoyance, the loudspeaker system crackled back into life with another telling-off bulletin.

"Could the Wookie with the blue gumboots NOT pee against the trees, please. There are toilet facilities available by the racing track."

Wu chuckled, not having had the chance to get irritated by the public information system yet. "Ok, happy to help look if it saves Jan from putting the kid's whole family onto red alert. Hey ― isn't it possible that the kid's just locked himself into one of the toilet cubicles or something?"

Good idea. Nick nodded towards the race track. "Could you go look? Hank's over there, by the way."

"Back in five…" Wu was about to set off and flipped a hand up in salute, when he froze.

And Nick froze, having just remembered who else was with Hank. _Idiot. Idiot Idiot IDIOT!_

They both watched Renard pull a teeny road-rager off a go-kart and remove him from the track. Wu stared back at Nick, his face full of perplexity.

"Nick… what's Renard doing.. at a wesen festival?"

Nick had the feeling that neither the policing excuse nor the KS badge were going to convince Wu one tiny bit.

**X x X**

_**TBC… in which Wu tries to establish what Renard really is… things get competitive between the 'big wesen', and Rosie doesn't quite feel right…**_


	4. Winterfest Wrangles

**And the winterfest wrangles continue! Children are pesky, and adults aren't always much better. Makes you wonder who should be wearing the GPS badges, really...**

**Thanks all so much for the wonderful reviews, favourites and follows! It's been fun to write.. I hope you continue to enjoy **

**X x X**

"Wu," Nick said, on the edge of his hearing, "It's impossible to know how much to tell you. We thought we'd start with the basics. Renard is not..."

"...basic?" Wu offered, and saw the KS sticker on the left side of Renard's chest across the distance to the race track. He saw it clearly because his Captain had turned fully to face him after a discreet shove from Hank. "I guess I always knew that, in a way."

They locked gazes, his own arms folded, Renard's hands in his pockets. As ever, Renard wore his rock-of-ages face, the one that said 'I have endured worse than you over the centuries. Do not be the one to try me.' Renard looked as Wu imagined a vampire to look between snacks.

"I've not known long myself," Nick offered suddenly.

"How not long?"

"Three weeks."

"Relax. That's _really_ not very long."

"You sure?"

Wu shrugged. "Let's say I had a fiancée, and she was having an affair. You find them screwing behind a Chinese restaurant, book the guy in for public indecency and don't tell me for three weeks. _That_ would be too long. This is fine." He made to stride off.

"Dude!"

Wu turned back and saw the bearded guy pacing: the wolf-wesen. Monroe, was it…? "Yeah?"

"Can I just point something out?... If you stalk over there right now... you're not really starting from the best point in the learning curve."

"Noted. But my curve's always been a little skewiff. I'll be back." He strode over to Renard, wishing he'd put a little more Schwarzenegger into that. Talk about lost opportunities.

While he closed the distance, Renard attracted the attention of the smiley, low-cut cutie who'd been on the welcome desk and in an unheard exchange, apparently asked her help in getting something off his shirt. Beaming away, she shoved a hand up inside his tee-shirt, pinkening cutely, jabbed him with some kind of hand-held device that clearly wasn't a taser (as much as it looked like one), and walked off with a skip and a backward wave that was even cutsier than her cutesy blushing. Renard smiled politely ― no more ― and inclined his head charmingly as she merged into the crowd.

Considering that his face still fricking hurt after his _one_ minute at the welcome desk, with no hands up his clothes, this display of total self-control on Renard's part simply confirmed his certainty that he wasn't human.

"Afternoon," Renard greeted.

"It is, yes." Wu kept his voice low as he spoke, but indicated the mendacious KS badge with a flick of his head. "Shouldn't that say BS?"

"You want to go there straightaway?"

Wu glared. "I'm trying to do you a favour. You're wearing short sleeves in eleven degrees and you have no goosebumps. That's not very human, is it?"

There was a long pause, then Renard nodded. "Good point. Back shortly." He returned moments later from a nearby tent, holding two coffees and wearing a fitted leather jacket. "This is why you're my Sergeant. You miss nothing."

"Flattery will get you nowhere," he lied. He needed the mollification because he felt like he'd missed _everything_. For _years_.

Renard handed him one of the coffees. "Walk with me."

Wu was fine with this until he realised that their destination was a tight spot between two fake 'decorative' pines along the side of the race track, one of which was sticking in his ear. "Won't this look the tiniest bit conspicuous?"

Renard gulped his espresso and looked down him levelly. "In the presence of these people, I'm a human Captain busting in and not knowing my place. I'd appreciate your enduring support in sustaining this image. Until I can explain more, at least."

Wu knew him well enough to know that Renard's words were instruction, with a thin veneer of polite. He'd grit his teeth and play along, for now. He wasn't a bridge-burner. "Fine… so while you're being 'human', I would stop swigging scalding coffee like it's juice. Because, FYI, that gives _normal_ humans third degree burns. KS ones or otherwise."

"Right."

All this agreement was disturbing. Wu got the critical question in while he could. "Are you like Jan?"

"A Koninglowen? No."

"But something with a high pain threshold?"

"Yes."

He knew about Denny, and ventured that suggestion. "Ogre?"

"No."

"Are you something…icky?"

Renard glared at him.

"Ok… King Cobra wesen?"

"No. Why?"

"You're hypnotic, evasive, and you rarely blink."

Renard burst out laughing, which seemed more alien to Wu than his actual lack of humanity. He'd never seen that happen before. Ever. It was like this sudden laughing behaviour belonged to the secret Renard, the one he didn't know existed, and he didn't like it. He felt like telling him to cut it out, because it was creepy. It took Renard a moment to get himself back together and quit chuckling into his palm.

"Sorry… I'm sorry…. It's just… look. The relationship between a wesen and their human behaviour isn't that direct."

"So what the hell are you?"

"I'm not telling you today."

"So why are we having this conversation in a bush when there are _acres_ of prickle-free places from which we could be supervising this track?" Wu felt like throwing his coffee over the guy. "Wait… you're not telling me…_today_?"

"Correct emphasis."

"Alright." Wu steamed quietly to himself for a few minutes, slurping at the remainder of his drink until Renard finally cracked and spoke.

"You ok?"

"Truthfully? No. Not really. I feel like someone's taken my road away." The admission was out before he could stop it. There was only one person he'd been totally open with in the last seven years― Mariam. And he'd only been with her three weeks.

"I can understand that."

Wu gave Renard a suspicious glance. That was... unRenardlike. He wondered if there were body-snatching wesen.

"Are you angry?"

"Not... angry. More self-deluded. I _thought_ I was observant and put a lot of stock in that. I was proud of it. I thought very little got past me. But uh... it looks like _everything_ has gotten past me, and always has. It's kind of like being with someone a long time, and for all that time, they make you think that you're a hero in bed, and on the day they leave, they choose to tell you that you snore. It's dispiriting."

There was a long quiet while Renard looked at his feet, and Wu recovered from the embarrassment of his totally ridiculous choice of analogy.

"You don't snore," Renard offered eventually.

"Totally the wrong cheer-up line."

Renard smiled slightly. "You are observant, Wu. You haven't missed anything. There's nothing to see. We have stress-out moments just as humans do, but the only ones that can really see how deep they go are other wesen, and Grimms. Your life will pretty much continue as previously."

"Yeah, right." But actually, Renard had sounded sincere... "You mean I'm not going to be seeing strangeness wherever I look?"

"Hank can't see anything unless a wesen woges fully. He just knows when Nick has seen a wesen part-wogeing because of his face."

"Can any human see a woge if it happens fully?"

"Indeed."

"So what's the benefit of being a Kerseite-whatever-it-was?"

"You're less likely to go into cardiac arrest at the sight of a full woge, because you have a better idea of what you're looking at."

"That's a really small, hard, cold comfort." Wu hugged his jacket round him for a moment as the teeny people shot past them on their electric cars in a pack, whipping up a gust of air. He kept his voice low. "Alright, so you're not human. You're not here to 'mingle' and you're sure as hell not getting much recruiting done for the constabulary, so... I'm guessing that you're looking for someone."

Renard nodded sagely, but added nothing.

"Well.. who? For God's sake! The words 'blood', 'from' and 'stone' are springing to mind here!"

"If I'm not offering information, it means that I can't."

He was properly exasperated now. "Look... you need to understand something. Since you got back from leave, your absences from the office on various grounds have become a little more noticeable, let's say. Now, I didn't mind blowing off DeMarcos whenever I needed to because he was an asshole. But Wilkes is a good guy and he asks a lot of _very_ good questions. So if you want me 'with you' to cover your professional butt, then give me some idea of what's keeping you so damn busy!"

Renard looked out over the fields and past the tents.

"Today!"

"I'm trying to think of a way to tell you what you need to know without giving you a history lesson. Cut me some slack. I've never had to explain this from scratch to anyone before." Renard huffed a sigh. "It's all about politics and aggressive belief systems."

"There's a difference?"

"There are fundamentalists in the wesen world as well as the human world, and they would kill Denny, Theo, Matty...me... for being half-breeds. I work against them."

"They'd kill them _just_ for being half-breeds?"

"That's crime enough for some."

"So what's worse, being human-wesen, or wesen-wesen?"

"The former. The collaboration of the two worlds? Unthinkable. That's the capital crime. Ask Denny."

"Denny's alive."

"He got rescued."

Wu found himself sinking into a wish-I-hadn't-asked moment. "That's insane. Blame the parents, surely? What's the point of criminalising and attacking half-breeds after they've already been born?"

"I did say they were fundamentalists, Wu. Extreme views and logic don't readily co-exist."

Wu looked around the park. There were a hell of a lot of people here. A hell of a lot of women and small people. And the place was a really big target. He stuffed his hands in his pockets so they couldn't be seen shaking. "So.. ah... are you here on security detail? Or...?"

"I don't believe that an attack on this fair is imminent. It's been quietly and carefully arranged by invitation and the Eisbibers are a suspicious people on the whole. But you're right, it's going to attract a lot of attention."

"So you're looking for faces that don't fit?"

Renard nodded and Wu felt back on slightly more familiar territory. If they kept things cop-y and operational, he reckoned he could handle it. It was a fair, with people. Who looked human enough to him, so he could think of them as human with human vulnerabilities. But he felt a little naked, looking around and knowing that there was something underneath the skin of everyone he saw, from the old guy swearing at his uneven walker to the tiny panda-Ewok walking round the outside of the tracks and following the electric cars mournfully. It was like being in a locked, haunted room with a bunch of people, all of whom could see the ghost but him. He just kept waiting for something seriously scary to grab his neck. Then it occurred to him to ask...

"Look, I've only had the wesen-for-dummies introduction. Does Nick... change... into anything?"

"No. He's human."

That helped, actually. He needed that one constant while he got his head around everything else.

"So... these anti-mingling guys-"

"―separatists―"

"These separatists... what would they do about an event like today's?"

"Bomb the festival, I should think."

This was said so calmly that it made Wu feel a little ill. "And... where there are separatists, there are usually supremacists hanging around somewhere, so they would do what? Bomb the whole of Portland to be sure they got all the halfbreeds?"

"Oh no, they think longer-term. They'd just sterilise all the women in mixed relationships, then those born mixed, and then start weeding out the weaker forms of wesen."

"'Just'! he says," Wu murmured. "Whatever happened to 'live and let live'?"

"I mean, they would allow them to live a monitored life, as opposed to completely annihilating them. They may be corrupted wesen, but they're still wesen. They're still better than the humans that they'd like to crush and rule."

"And you're _against_ all this, right?"

Renard glared at him, and stepped out from their bush corner across the track to the open. Wu guessed that this was the confidential part of the conversation over but was irked at the glare.

"Hey - a recap is always good, ok? You do not get to be mad that I asked that."

"I'm not mad. I'm watchful."

It was Wu's turn to glare. "I have seen you nearly every day for six years. I know your faces. Apparently you chuckle, which is news to me, but otherwise, I'm pretty familiar. You have a suspicious face, a watchful face, a disapproving face, a mad face, a where's-my-mustard face...which admittedly is pretty close to your mad fac―"

"JACOB, NO!"

Hank's bass shout broke him from his reverie, and both he and Renard turned to see the Lieutenant running round the track to the first major straight section, where a tiny Ewok was waddling right down the middle, just a couple of bends from a six-cart onslaught. The kid either didn't hear, or didn't think the yelling was for him because he kept walking towards the oncoming traffic.

Wu's heart went into his mouth and he pelted off alongside Renard round the outside of the track, Wu overtaking, since Renard was still a little slow from the bullet in the back of his thigh. Hank stumbled over an 'ornamental' rock wedged between two fake pines and went sprawling, leaving little Theo closest to the Ewok, waving his arms frantically in his line of sight and yelling his head off. Wu saw Nick streaking in from the zipwire, but none of them were going to make it. The cars were one bend away.

With a simple, desperate look, Theo dived out onto the track and wrapped his arms round Jacob, screwing his face up before impact. Wu was within feet of grabbing them when Renard accelerated past him, snatched both kids, and barrelled them off the track and onto the outside grass. They rolled as a three for a moment, then landed in a heap.

There was a really long quiet, then Theo burst into shocked tears, staggering blindly into Nick's arms as he did a sprint-stop on his knees on the grass and flung his arms out. Monroe scooped up Jacob, who pulled bemusedly at his beard, and still didn't seem to have picked up what all the fuss was about. Renard was still on the ground, clutching his arms over his head, shaking and groaning. Wu went over and squatted next to him. Was he doing the woge-changey thing… hidden? He was about to offer him a hand up when Renard got himself together and stood shakily, blinking rapidly. There was quite a graze going up into his hairline. Monroe freed a hand from his Ewok-hug to pass a crumpled tissue from a cord pocket, which Renard accepted in a dazed kind of way.

"Well," Wu observed eventually, ruffling Theo's head, "I think you broke every Sith rule going, back there. You 'lright?"

Theo pulled himself from his hiding place against Nick's neck and wiped his face. "Where's Jacob?"

"I got him! He's right here and he's fine, aren't you, little guy? He's a little pink and a little confused, and …. Oh boy! He's a piglet."

Wu could not stop staring. Under the white panda paint, the little guy had developed a clear snout and a downy face, and his ears were up in pink points. Wu moved from staring to gaping, and then threw in a little gawping. He was quite disappointed in Hank for not looking a little more awestruck ― it wasn't like he was _that _seasoned a KS, even if he was a badge-wearing one rather than a sticker-wearing one.

Monroe cleared his throat. "Ah… shouldn't I be giving this teeny-Bauerschwein to someone else to hold? Wouldn't that be sensible?"

Nick shook his head. "Looks like you're doing fine, mister wolf."

"Nick! Do not be flippant about this stuff, alright? This is potential social disaster waiting to happen!"

"Why?" Wu asked.

"I'm a Blutbad ― wolf-wesen! Pigs… wolves… awkwardness!"

Jan caught up with them and took Theo from Nick, thanking him quietly and letting Theo curl into a ball on his forearm and on his chest. Carianne smacked Theo sympathetically with her banana from the other side of his chest. He put a steadying hand out to Renard's shoulder. "Are you alright?"

"Yeah. I landed a little hard."

"I was too far away to run. So… thank you. Again. You have the happy talent of being around when my son needs you."

"You're welcome," Renard mumbled, and looked away, still blinking rapidly. Wu recognised the evasiveness immediately and created a distraction.

"Anyway, Theo….that was a _super-brave_ thing you did. We do civic awards for things like that."

"Jacob's my friend," Theo said a little reproachfully then, apparently sensing a bargaining opportunity, looked up at Jan with a big grin. "Can I have the biggest-sized ice-cream, daddy?"

"No. You've been very brave and we'll talk about that more later, but you're still not going to eat something the same size as your head. Come on, let's go get the medium and take Jacob back to his parents."

"Oh!"

"Siths can't fight with rampant indigestion," Jan pointed out mildly, and when this line of argument brought about respectful silence from his son, he looked around in concern. "We still can't find Matty in the fair zone. Could you guys join Denny at the perimeter? Volunteers are taking over all the activity posts, now."

"Sure," they mumbled as one man, but also goggled after Theo as father and son disappeared into the crowd, Theo holding Jacob's hand as his friend babbled excitably at him.

Hank limped up from behind, rubbing his knee. "Can't believe he flatly turned down a medal. That's unnatural. He's really got Jan's '_he ain't heavy, he's my brother_' thing going on, hasn't he?"

Wu had to agree that it was strange. "The protection thing… is that genetic?"

Theo tugged firmly on Jacob's hand as he stopped to try and pat a vast German Shepherd dog on the butt. "Don't _do_ that, you silly sod!"

Monroe rubbed his beard. "Hard to tell, but that kind of looked like environmental influence to me."

The tension was broken. The guys chuckled, and the group broke up. They still had another little boy to find.

**X x X**

Denny made it up the trunk of the tree by putting enough pressure on his fingertips and toes on tiny holds to keep them numb for a week. He'd scraped down twice, gone butt-down in the mud twice and lost his tee-shirt and contents of his jeans in the muck, but finally he was sat side-on to the branch with his back to the trunk, gripping the branch above him until he got his balance. He was gory, sweat-sticky, and covered in bark grit. Great. But he was stable at last, and Matty looked very pleased to see him.

"Right son, now I've got you still for a bloody minute... " Denny leant over carefully and pinned the wolf badge to Matty's coat. "There. Won't be losing _you_ again. But... and this is a BIG 'but', Matty, we need to talk about your stalking habits. Did your dad say it was alright to track squirrels?"

Matty put his chin on his chest and shook his head meekly.

"Thought not. Now, I know you need your stalking practice, but next time could you stick to a creature that stays on the ground? Like a bunny, or something?"

Meek nodding, this time.

"Good lad. Now... if you could slowly shuffle... SLOWLY! God... Matty... trying to give me a bloody heart attack? No pouncing on branches, alright?"

"Sowwy." Matty climbed onto his front.

"Ok. Hang on round my neck ― without claws, please ― and what I'll do is lower down to one hand on the branch, then jump. Alright? Don't worry. I'm a good lander, and I'm not going to let go."

"Big leap?" Matty asked nervously.

Denny looked down and tried to sound more confident than he felt. "Um... pretty big, yeah. But I'm really, really tall, almost like Uncle Jan, so by the time my feet are hanging down, we're already a lot closer to the ground."

Matty randomly poked the bark graze on his front, making him yelp. The yelp made Matty jump and there was a thrashing, fidgety moment with Denny's heart in his mouth before he got them both stable again.

"_Please_ don't do that!"

"Hurt Denny?" Matty's kitten eyes were so huge and round, and rapidly moistening, that Denny found himself giving the kid a reassuring squeeze and feeling like a total marshmallow for hugging rather than clipping round ear, as his own dad would've done if he'd tried that.

"It hurts a little… yeah. It'll hurt a lot less if you don't prod it."

He squeezed his eyes shut and tried to balance his lap on the branch, ready to slip off forwards. It was quite a long way down, on reflection. He was pretty sure nothing he'd ever done in Afghanistan had been this scary. "Right, jump on three. One, two... no don't lunge ― WOAH!"

**X x X**

There had clearly been some kind of near-emergency over at the race track, but the moment of drama was over because the guys were spreading again. A jolt in Rosalee's lower abdomen jerked her back to her own immediate awareness.

The tension was growing: Rosalee could feel it keenly. Her lower back ached fiendishly and a great heat seemed to be throb up through her from her toes. Uh…. She hated these moments. The sweat started to poor, and through the white spots in her vision, she looked around for a stall that was likely to have an ice-bucket. They were nasty moments, these flushes, but she'd been taught how to deal with them. And she was glad not to have Monroe around for this one because he would panic and frogmarch her right home.

First things first… get out of the canopy and get some breeze in her face.

She moved round to the front of the front of the stall and leant against the table, eyes closed and relishing the coolness. It helped a lot. She needed to get a grip. She knew she could make her head work, but she wasn't very confident in her knees right now.

"Hey Rosie, how's it go― Rosie, are you alright?" Nick's voice, and his hand at her arm.

Wow this was getting to be a big flush. "Hmmm. Monroe gone… back to the…?"

"Woge wrestling? No, we're still looking for Matty. He's just gone to the…. Shit! Rosalee?!"

Rosalee felt a sensation of bogginess underfoot, ridiculous lightness up top, and then she was glad of Nick's hands under her elbows and his chest in her face. His collarbone was slightly harder than necessary, but she couldn't have everything. "Yeah,'m alright."

"You're not! You're not alright!"

"Nick… stop freaking out…"

"Don't tell me not to freak out ― you're fainting down my front!" She felt him scrabbling to get his arms around her back quickly without bumping her bump, holding her too hard, or being too gropey, which was hard on him because her legs were wobbling insanely. "Uh… this isn't good. I'm gonna get you down on the ground, alright?"

"No! Ground is bad. Upright is good. Jus… keep me up for a minute, will you?"

Heat flowed off his face and neck as he held her on her feet for a moment. "If anything happens to you because I under-reacted to this, I _will_ get my parts ripped off and served in something non-vegan. You know that, right?"

The flush passed and she grabbed Nick's shoulders, puffing the moment of lightheadedness away. "It's fine, I know what to do. Stay still. I need to stretch this out."

"Ok!"

She did what the ante-natal instructor said she should do to deal with those early cramps, pushing one leg back in a small lunge, hanging onto him for balance, then the other, and then the pain subsided. She straightened up, feeling overly warm still, but normal. "Thank you."

Nick was still wide-eyed. "Shouldn't I be getting Monroe?"

"If I have another one of those in the next ten minutes, I'll call him. Don't you worry. But if you want to be an absolute sweetheart when that time comes, you can round up Den―"

Nick frowned suddenly and he tilted his ear to the woods behind them. She also heard a distant yell. Then a louder yell. Then the unmistakeable sound of the European Lesser-Tempered Siegbarste yelling "Boll-oooooocks!"

"Go!" She nodded permission at Nick that she was fine to be left and watched him streak off through the trees.

**X x X**

Denny wasn't far away and it was the sound of Matty yelling in panic that got Nick over to them real fast. Denny was hanging by the knees from a branch about 15 feet above the ground, clutching Matty's forearms as the tot dangled beneath him, squeaking and panicking.

"Crap rescue attempt!" Denny summarised briskly, and Nick shot forward to grab Matty and get him down on the floor.

"Don't move," Nick warned Matty. "I've got to help Uncle Denny get down."

"Yep. Help would be good… Nick, can you reach up and grab my hands?"

"Hinge grip?"

"That's the one!"

"Got you." Nick shifted directly underneath and linked fingers with Denny. "Ok, so, say when!"

"WHEN!"

It was good teamwork: Denny unhooked his knees and pushed off from the tree, flipping down behind Nick, who crouched and let go so his wrists wouldn't get pulled back against their joints as Denny jack-knifed his legs down towards the ground. Denny landed on his feet, a little breathless, but turning with a big, relieved grin. "Cheers Nick ― blinding timing. Saved me untold damage to neck and shoulders, I can tell you."

"Jumped!" Matty chirped, pointing frenetically at the high branch. "Jumped with favrit Grimm!"

"Yeah! My favrit Grimm too. He's got really, really strong arms. Couldn't have done that with a normal bloke." Denny picked his teeshirt up out of the bog. "Bugger. This is filthy. Can't put this back on, I've got an open graze."

Denny had a point about the hygiene aspect, but that clearly wasn't what was bothering him. Nick followed his disconcerted gaze out to the main fair area and had a pretty good idea of what kept Denny rooted to the spot. His scars. Not just the ones lining his back and shoulders, which were now white and faded, but also the razor decoration on the small of his back that made it completely clear that the Verrat were responsible for inflicting the rest of the damage. Nothing like the reminder of Verrat torture to lower the tone of a party. He stripped his jacket off, handed over his shirt, and stuffed the jacket back over his tee-shirt. The sun would warm him ok by the time they got out of the shade of the woods.

"Here. Until you can borrow something from Jan that actually fits."

Denny grinned and stuffed himself into it gratefully, though struggling to do so for the sweat. "Nick, you're an absolute star. Can't actually… do it up… but it covers the important parts, anyway."

Matty waddled over to Denny's feet and stuck his arms up. "Big leap!"

"You're quite impressed by that, aren't you?"

Both guys chuckled as Denny picked his mobile, wallet, keys and other bits out of the grass, stuck them in his pockets, then picked up Matty.

"C'mon then. Let's get you back to Bud before he has a heart attack."

"I'll call him," Nick agreed, and managed to shove his basic message through the wave of spluttered thanks at the other end of the line. "He's waiting in the beer tent."

"A sound place to wait if you ask me," Denny said and they made their way out of the woods.

Then it struck Nick that Livvy was in the beer tent. If he was going to get any sensible conversation out of her in the next month or so, he could _not_ have Den waltzing in there heroically with Matty hero-worshipping him. It would probably push Livvy over the top of her crush-o-meter and sideways off her barstool in one motion.

"Wait! Wait wait wait… give me Matty, Den."

"Yeah ok, ok…Why?" Denny bundled him over urgently.

"Livvy's in the tent."

"So? If she needs a lift anywhere, she's going to have to wait for me to put Matty down first. Not that she'll want me anywhere near her at the moment." Denny looked himself up and down with distaste. "I'm looking a bit squalid."

Nick was in two minds about whether or not to take this quiet moment with Denny to let him know about Livvy's rampant crush. Jan was _way_ better at this delicate kind of stuff. But on the other hand, it would be really hard for Jan to warn Denny off Livvy without making it look like he was having this totally irrational (yet completely calm) jealous moment. Scrub that. Ok, it had to be him, really. But he was doubting Monroe's protective logic, now. Livvy's crush on Den wasn't really his to disclose. Sure, he wanted to spare her the pain of completely falling for someone she couldn't have, but she seemed perfectly aware of the risks and it wasn't something he could actually prevent. What if he screwed up their friendship by―

"You could disagree," Denny muttered. "About me looking squalid."

Nick batted his eyelashes at Denny. "Squalid? You look so beautiful covered in mud and twigs with a shirt that doesn't do up."

"You sarcastic sod!"

Nick chuckled as they stamped their way out of the woods. Matty kept himself entertained by finding different parts of his arm to pinch.

"Right.. so what's the issue with Livvy?"

Damn. "Ah… nothing."

"Bollocks! All that 'wait wait wait' malarkey…. You've got something on your mind. C'mon. Livvy's my mate. If there's something up with her, I want to know about it."

_'She really likes you Den, don't go sweeping her off her feet too often, ok?'_ It was on the edge of Nick's lips, but then he held back. Too much information, too quickly. He decided to take Monroe's approach and go in there with an analogy. Or something.

"Alright... um... you know the other morning when I picked you up for your EMT sign-ups and I showed up a little early?"

"A _little_ early? Nine, you said, but you were at the door at the first sparrow's fart! "

Nick shrugged. It was a New Year's resolution, not to be late. "Well... you know how Jan was up already and exercising in the lounge? In boxers? He stopped mid press-up to smile and flick you a morning wave and you had to go have a second cold shower, right?"

Den blushed like a raspberry. "I'm sure you'll get to the point one day."

"Well that's the effect you have on Livvy." There. It was out. And he hadn't even mentioned the octopus-wrestling.

"What!?"

"Yeah."

Denny looked genuinely consternated. "Really?"

Nick nodded. The less speech, the better, while he was ahead of his game. Denny stayed still, rubbing the back of his head and looking stunned. And… not too pleased. Shit. What had he started, here?

"Look, uh… she's not planning to make any moves on you―"

"I'm not worried about that. She knows how the land lies. But Christ... poor Livs. I had _no_ idea. Until you completely blew her subtle cover."

"Subtle? Denny, her crush is NOT subtle to the rest of mankind! Better _I_ tell you, than―"

"Than what?"

"Than someone makes some bitchy remark to her about her total obviousness while you're still standing there, and she gets completely humiliated in front of you!"

Denny seemed to muse on this for a moment as they approached the beer tent. "Fair enough. I just don't know what I'm supposed to do about ... knowing. I can't start acting different, can I? She'll think she's done something wrong and waste time stressing about it."

"Uh... just be you. With a bit less carrying around?"

"Yeah, I'll just let her struggle around in pain. That'll sort her crush out."

"Fine. I'll help with the carrying more to take the focus off you. I'm just trying to help her, you know." Nick smarted slightly and he picked up his pace towards the beer tent. He felt as if he'd been caught shit-stirring or something, rather than trying to prevent a bad situation from developing.

"Nick!"

"What?"

Denny jogged alongside, smiling ruefully. "Cheers. Sorry it took so long to get to that bit."

Nick raised a brow at him and they turned the corner of the beer tent to a rousing reception. Betty tried snatching Matty right from his arms, but Nick smiled and hung on firmly until Bud took him. It was perfectly obvious where Matty wanted to go. While Bud wrapped Matty up, Janie pecked Nick on the cheek, then Den, and led Den off behind, to the bar, where they had the first aid kit. Nick heard a glass smash.

Betty gave Matty's little head a ruffle. "Who was a naughty boy, worrying his mom?"

Bud ignored Betty and addressed his son. "What were you doing, kiddo?"

"Big leap!"

Nick had to laugh as Bud made instant sense of this enigmatic summary and pulled an anguished face.

"P-Please don't tell me that one of you had to go up a tree?"

"Biggest leap _ever_!" Matty enthused.

"We're fine," Nick assured said. "A bit of adventure hasn't killed anyone."

"A bit of proper organisation wouldn't kill anyone either," Betty said, supposedly under her breath, but loud enough to stop conversation.

Nick hated atmospheres that could be grated, cut or sliced. He was very close to taking the woman by the shoulders and looking deep into her eyes, but… no. First, she seemed mean enough to suffer a nasty turn if he turned his Grimm on her and he didn't want to make the domestic situation worse for Bud. Second… probably not what his dad would've done. He'd had a chance to read the old letters, lately. He caught Bud's eye: Bud looked mad enough to dunk her in the apple tank feet-first, and quite honestly, he should be the one with the right to do that. So Nick backed up to the edge of the tent, looking enough towards Betty so she knew he was addressing her, but keeping the Grimm effect at bay.

"If you're talking about Denny forgetting the badge, yeah. Mistake. But he also went up a tree to get Matty back, so… no snidey comments in _my _presence please. Thank you."

He slipped round the corner and disappeared before Bud could start apologising for his mother-in-law.

**X x X**

Apart from losing her grip on a beer glass pretty randomly, Livvy acted perfectly normal and Denny wondered if Nick was reading everything wrong. Or was just being over-protective. It wasn't Livvy he had to disentangle himself from, but Janie, who appeared determined to plaster pretty much most of his front before Jan rescued him with the spare tee-shirt from Carianne's changing bag. He thanked Janie as graciously as he could, grabbed a cheeky beer from Livvy, and slunk out of the back of the tent, heading for the test-your-own-strength machine.

Wu was already at the machine, mallet in hand, and did a massive down-swing that just about tinged the bell at the top of the rise. He punched the air jubilantly, leapt about, and grabbed a huge stuffed toy from the stall next to the machine.

Denny grinned as Leroy the stall-owner shuffled behind the machine and fiddled with the dial. He was probably turning up the air pressure: if a human could hit the bell, then he'd lose all his stock to the wesen.

"Are you going to have a go?" Jan murmured into his ear.

He grinned. "You know, I think I might. Despite the 'no ogres' sign."

"If you can get the grey bears with blue noses for both Theo and Carianne, I'll get spare keys cut for the Spyder."

Denny whirled round. "You serious?"

"Totally." Jan winked. "Happy winning. And be subtle, alright?"

"Gotcha." He joined the back of the queue, sipping on his drink, when Barnes the bastard slipped behind him, waiting for his go. He groaned inwardly and stepped out of the queue for the moment to grab a steak baguette from 'Mauvais meats'. He chuckled at the name. Yeah, the vendors may be Mauvais Dentes, but it was hardly good advertising. There was a good buzz in the place, though. If even the Mauvais pair could get a good trade going, then he wasn't inclined to ruin the atmosphere by letting Barnes get to him. He'd nearly finished his snack when he caught sight of Nick's beer-drinking peace round the back of the beer tent being disturbed by an outraged Livvy.

"That was mean!" she accused him.

Nick looked a bit cornered. "What... was mean?"

"Leading Denny back to the tent all shiny, half-dressed and in need of a first-aid kit! What are you trying to DO to me?"

Uh oh… Sorry mate, Denny thought, and zipped back into the queue with his back to them before he could make any eye contact. He couldn't shut his ears to the conversation, though, and felt himself go blazing hot in the face and the ears as they carried on arguing ― not particularly quietly.

"Hey! I at least managed to get some clothes back on him ― he was half-dressed! What do you want from me?"

"Nick! Half-dressed is SO much worse!"

"I can't win. Seriously, I just... can't win."

"All he had to say was 'hey Livs', and ... smash. I dropped a glass. And then he rolled his sleeves up and swept it all up for me. I'm a lost cause."

"Yep."

"I need to be locked away."

"Definitely. Somewhere sound-proofed..."

Denny chuckled, but then the sound of louder arguing overlaid Nick and Livvy's mutter-fest and suddenly he was directly behind Barnes in the queue, other people having wandered away in annoyance at him holding things up for some reason. Wu had his arms folded and was glaring at Barnes.

"Look… live with it. You had a go. The bell did not ting. Move on with your life!"

"I'm twice your size and you got a bear. He's messed around with the machine!"

"My turn," Denny muttered, and took the mallet from Barnes. "If you wouldn't mind backing up a bit?"

Barnes stalked to one side, glowering. "Go ahead. It's made it hard, now."

Denny brought the mallet down and there was a clang rather than a ting that made Leroy wince for the welfare of his bell. He dropped a couple of bucks into the box, then another couple. "One more go for luck?"

BANG… TING!

He collected two grey bears with blue noses and put them to one side on a tarp, where it wasn't muddy. "Still do-able, even on the higher-wesen setting."

Barnes chuckled. "Call yourself the higher wesen, do you?"

"Fine. Bigger wesen. Whatever."

"You get in there with a Koninglowen sugar daddy and that puts you up at the top of the wesen foodchain?"

Denny raged inwardly at the insult to Jan. "Thin ice, mate. Thin ice."

Leroy looked at him oddly. "So are you _not_ a … Koninglowen?"

"Oh, ignore me." Barnes smiled charmingly at Leroy, putting money back into his little box. "Clearly I'm just a bad loser. It makes me _ogre-ish. No_ offence, Mr Miller."

"None taken." Denny aimed for a hearty laugh, raised his hand to waft away the insult, but at Barnes' smirk, bunched his fist on the downswing and splashed it across the smug face, sending Barnes sprawling about six feet away. "It was still a bit rude, though."

A crowd gathered. He was clearly angry, but hadn't woged to Ogre as expected: Barnes staggered to his feet, shifting to bloody-nosed bison, and stamped the ground with his feet.

Denny held his hands out in invitation. He was ready for a proper scrap, now. "C'mon then, if you're hard enough!"

"Uh… Denny…." Nick's voice, alarmed, from the side.

"'S'alright, Nick. I know what I'm doing. This needs to be sorted once and for all!"

Barnes charged, head down, and Denny was snickering inwardly at how ridiculous that looked outside a rugby scrum when the horns appeared….

**X x X**

_**TBC… in which Rosalee's contractions become rather more marked, Nick truly steps up for Monroe, and people are reminded why the sound of a fox screaming is really bloody scary….**_


	5. The Federation expands

**And the tale continues! Thanks a million for all the reviews, favourites and follows... and I hope you continue to enjoy the next section. The Blutbau Cometh very soon, I promise, lol. **

**X x X**

"...and breathe out. Ok sweetie. They're still ten minutes apart," Janie reported, and helped Rosalee stand back up again from her stretching position against the stall table. "But nobody would blame you for saying you wanted to go home, y'know?"

"I don't," Rosalee said, stretching backwards. "All I can do at home is pace and wait, and I'm through with that. And you know what the boys are like. They'd all follow me en-masse. No, I want to keep going until something significant actually happens."

She had to raise her voice a little over a hubbub a few stalls down by Leroy's test-your-strength patch. She couldn't really see what was going on but clearly some kind of fight had broken out. The brawlers were ring-fenced by a closely packed bunch of spectators who were alternately cringing and then cheering.

Bud struggled out of the crowd herding away a group of annoyed little Siths who wanted to watch, and trotted over briskly. Rosalee was about to ask what was going on when Denny's unmistakeable voice boomed out over the crowd.

"OWW! FUCKIN' NORA!"

Rosalee's eyes widened and she pulled out her cell to call Monroe. Where the hell was he? "I really hope that wasn't Denny wogeing!" He'd be good for nothing if he woged. He could probably fight till dawn and then still hand her their baby after a six-hour labour, but if he woged...

But the crowd weren't reacting as if he were wogeing. The shouts of encouragement were definitely falling on his side. Ogres did not get cheered.

"Who's he fighting?" Janie asked.

"Ellis B-Barnes."

"Good! I hope Denny whumps him into the middle of next year!"

Ellis Barnes... it rang a bell. Rosalee unpeeled hair from the back of her neck. She was still having hot-sweats. "Is he the bison guy? Monroe said he could be a snarky schmuck. And that's King Snark talking."

"Oh yeah. Ellis is a total and UTTER j-e-r-k. He's always blocking our car in when we go pick up Matty from nursery. I really don't know what his problem is. He's like the school bully that never grew up."

Rosalee shook his head in wonder. His behaviour couldn't be that simple. She'd never met anyone who acted like that much of a turd just for the sake of it. "How did he even get a wife?"

"I'm not sure he has one anymore," Janie murmured. "Stella's been doing all the pick-ups from nursery since the beginning of the year, and he's here alone today, so... maybe she saw the light or something."

Denny yelled again, this time sounding pained rather than indignant, and Bud rolled his sleeves up decisively. Rosalee noted Janie's eyes opening wide.

"Sweetheart, what are you DOING?"

"I'm g-g-oing to help!" Bud barked, and pushed his way back through the throng, shoulders set.

Rosalee met Janie's eyes in concern. "Uh... I don't want to be a pessimist, but—"

"I know! He's gonna get pounded! Bud, wait!"

Janie went after him, leaving Rosalee by the stall, wondering where her boys had all gone. Shouldn't Nick be breaking up this thing? Jan was way over by the zipwire, talking to Barry Rabe and handing him a leaflet for the volunteer cop service and from Rabe's body-language, it looked like he was suggesting the physical silhouette of the cute kind of partner he'd like. She grinned as Rabe got a banana in the face for his sexism, but overall it looked like Jan had another sign-up. It looked like Jan was about to get an earful, too: Jacob's mom was storming towards him in full woge, snorting and holding her little piglet-panda on her shoulders.

The Captain and Hank were still by the race track, looking over in some concern at the crowd by the fight. At least Hank was: Renard was looking at someone at the back of the crowd, someone tall who stood quietly alone for a while, then backed away, smiling slightly.

Monroe finally appeared from one of the portable Johns over by the race track and jogged over, all smiles. Good — he could watch the stall for a few minutes. She needed the head herself.

He pulled her into a light hug. "Everything ok, honey? I can stick around for a little while, now."

"Oh good... I'm starting to crave the company," she chuckled.

"Excuse me?"

They looked over their counter with a smile and saw a young girl, maybe fourteen or so, standing there shyly with her purse.

"Did you bring any sauvais peau?"

Rosalee smiled at her. She remembered this phase of puberty. Not fun for the female of _any_ short-haired wesen. "Sure. Camomile or Aloe?"

"Aloe, please."

The girl paid her six bucks and walked off, leaving Monroe frowning.

"Why in the world would a young girl like that want to hold her woge form?"

"I found out about this a few months back and I _wish_ I'd known about this when I was growing up, but if you take just a little and epilate in woge form, your human hair doesn't re-grow for about six months. Hurts like HELL, but it's even better than laser treatment."

He stared. "Whoa...really? You wax... in _woge form_?"

"I'm usually pretty drunk when I do it."

Monroe's eyebrows shot up into his hairline and she giggled.

"I've stuck to using razors while pregnant, of course." She felt an oppressive heaviness creeping up again and decided to head for the WC. "I'll be right back."

"Alrighty."

It seemed to take an age to walk that short distance and she locked herself into the cubicle, fanning her face a little from the smell. As soon as she sat, she felt something inside like a small, painless snip. Then felt warmth leaving, and rushing. Endless, endless rushing...

"Oh my god... my waters!"

She could've cried with relief: things were moving at last. Of course, waters breaking was early-stage stuff, it could still be tomorrow by the time little man showed up, but... she felt a grin pop itself into place and it wouldn't go away. Waters breaking... on the can. Not in the staff lift at Quantico, like her only remaining Seattle friend, Tina: not in the condiment section of Harrods like Denny's mom, and best of all... not on the tram, like with Janie's first son. The water kept coming, and kept coming... and then she felt a violent little kick — right on her bladder. She propped her elbows on knees and head in her hands. Great. The pee of eternity, striking again. She could be here a while...

**X x X**

Barnes had him temporarily pinned on his back and was trying to stab downwards with his head, but Denny's arms were too long and too strong for him to get close enough with any degree of puncturing force. He'd barely deflected that first, unexpected horn rush, just about knocking Barnes sideways with a well-placed elbow in the ear, but the horn had scored him across the ribs anyway and he had a nice, long sore which was distracting, to say the least. The pinned-to-the-ground position was almost getting a little boring, now. He wished Barnes would try something else. If he didn't change tactics in the next twenty seconds, he was getting a boot between the legs to end things.

Nick, Livvy and Wu watched the scrap between gaps in their fingers: he'd forbidden them to join in and physically removed Nick from the fray at one point with a barely-spare hand. A point had to be made: he doubted that anyone still believed he was Koninglowen, but a prick like Barnes was NOT going to be allowed to stress him into wogeing publicly. People had to see that Siegbarstes weren't all creatures of irrational and uncontrollable rage.

Getting fed up, Denny jerked suddenly to the left, breaking Barnes' hold on his shoulders and tossing him off balance behind him. Barnes was a quick recoverer and punched him hard in the kidney, making him grunt hard and return the love with a reverse elbow in the nose.

Denny pulled himself upright. "Barnes... that's enough..."

Barnes lumbered to his feet and swung a punch that Denny limbo-dipped beneath (to an 'oooo' of female approval) then grabbed Barnes' jacket and lifted him up off the floor until his feet dangled. Breathing hard, Barnes glanced past his shoulder as if looking for someone specific — he'd done that a few times already — but Denny was not tempted to lose concentration and try to work out where Barnes was looking. He was about to put the aggressive bastard down and try to calm things a bit when Barnes suddenly glared at him again and head-butted.

"Mmmmmmrrrr," disapproved the crowd.

Denny couldn't even yell: his cheekbone exploded with the fire of instant bruising. But not even the rockets firing round inside his head could compete with the intense sting of horn-tip scraping through his hairline. Staggering with watering eyes, he tossed Barnes backwards onto the test-your-strength machine and his weight made the bell ring as he landed butt-first on the pressure pad.

"Yay!"

Amidst the clapping, he was dimly aware of Nick and Wu grinning at him (Livvy busy wrestling the first aid box from Janie), when the humiliation clearly became too much for Barnes and he woged fully, making Wu jerk backwards in shock, the only one in the crowd to do so. He nearly tripped over Nick, who caught him and put his hands on his shoulders while he breathed way too fast and blinked a lot. As Denny's vision cleared, he saw Barnes getting to his feet and glaring at Wu through red-rimmed bison eyes, snorting and growling. Wu's KS sticker had come off.

"Human..." Barnes advanced, and Nick instantly got into his face as a barrier in front of Wu.

"You back off... _right now_."

Barnes met Nick's eyes and flinched back at the Grimm glare, but the shock reaction was muted: he was tired, already in full woge and had nothing left to hide. As a shoving match started between Nick and Barnes, Nick's face set with anger, Denny moved forward to help out but was nearly run over by Bud...

... who ran straight through the fray, yelled like a Berserker, and clouted Barnes with a log. Barnes dropped like a stone at Nick's feet and shifted back to human.

There was a long, long quiet.

Bud stared at his log and then at Barnes, Wu stared at Barnes, Nick stared at Bud, Janie gaped at Bud, Denny gaped at Bud... then promptly remembered that they might actually have a serious casualty on their hands. He creaked over and bent by Barnes' head, doing a swift breathing and pulse check — just to be sure. The arse was fine, and already beginning to grab his head and moan. His left horn would never be the same shape again, but it saved him a total braining. Denny looked up to find Monroe gaping at him.

"DENNY! DUDE!"

Denny blinked, and glanced at the inert bison spread across the floor. "Eh? No, I didn't do that... it was Bud."

"Not what I meant, but Uh... well done, Bud. Oh, Bud's busy..."

Bud was _very_ busy — being vigorously kissed by Janie. Denny chuckled and got unsteadily to his feet, Nick and Wu giving him a hand-up. Wu was still staring wildly into the distance and seemed to need to do something with his hands once he was upright.

"Wu... grab the bears, would you? I didn't go through all that to leave this fair bearless." Denny turned to Monroe. "So what's with the outraged 'DUDE?!'"

"You're a mess!"

He shrugged, feeling slightly light-headed as he did so. "Didn't woge, did I? I'm fine. I'll be helping Rosalee, as promised."

Nick glanced up at him doubtfully, and down to his waist. "I'm with Monroe on 'mess', not 'fine'. You know you've got blood everywhere, right?"

"Oh." Denny touched his forehead and his fingers came away wet and red. "Bleaugh. Alright... perhaps a bit of a tidy-up's in order... "

"I'll do it," Wu said mechanically, eyes still wide as he took the first aid box from Livvy with a short, determined struggle.

Barnes lumbered slowly to his feet, still grabbing his head and glaring at him murderously. He curled his hand into a fist, making Denny sigh with annoyance. He couldn't be serious? Surely? He was about to ask the thankless bastard if he was on drugs or something when a furry arm shot past his nose and Monroe laid Barnes out completely with a neat punch.

"THAT... is for goring my midwife," Monroe huffed. "Alright guys, let's head back to the stall. We'll clean up, split into shifts and see a little more of this fair, hopefully."

Denny leant on Nick as they made their way over to Rosalee's stall, but she wasn't there. And with the adrenaline settling, he couldn't get the thought out of his head that there had been a purpose in Barnes going psycho like that, beyond his usual insanely aggressive behaviour. He'd been definitely looking for someone. Was that whole fight a distraction from something? He shared his suspicions with Nick, who nodded.

"Alright. Siddown. I'll go talk to Renard."

Denny eased himself into the seat behind the stall, ready to get out of it again whenever Rosalee reappeared and needed it. He cracked his knuckles and grinned quietly to himself, even when Wu started dabbing with the stingy-stuff. Whatever creepy shit was going on behind Barnes' successful fight-starting routine, at least he was on top of his woge-restraint skills again. He hadn't fought that calmly since surrounded by humans in Helmand. It felt good to have the control back.

**X x X**

Majella Maple had a lot to say on the subject of idiots setting up race tracks without fences closing them off and for the first few minutes of her rant, Jan apologised, nodded, and made sympathetic noises all in the right places. And still she didn't stop, holding Jacob against her chest as if he were a beloved and broken antique smashed by an idiot before the auction had begun. She spoke like someone close to the edge, and Jan could see why: Jacob was clearly a poorly little boy, even if he seemed happy enough, and from the kid's slightly puffy face, double chin, and bleary confusion, Jan began to suspect that he had an idea of what was wrong with him.

He was running out of patience with the mother, but managed to hold back from pointing out that the GPS assistance was intended as insurance against little ones getting lost in the woods — not as a license to disappear straight into the beer tent and leave a kid to his own devices. He didn't know her well enough to judge. And god knows there wasn't a parent alive who hadn't taken their eye off the ball at some critical point. And it wasn't as if she were drunk. Just... emotionally fuelled.

Trying very hard not to get distracted by the sound effects of fighting in the background, particularly with Denny's swearing roaring across the glade, he reached a hand out and gently rubbed Jacob's almost white-blonde head. He was the same age as Theo, but the size of a two-year-old, and the little head almost disappeared under his palm. A soft, tickly pink ear popped up through gap between his fingers as Jacob woged happily, and Jan felt moved by the big, goofy grin the boy gave him.

Jacob woged like Denny, Jan noted: both half-human, they seemed to go through a whole-body transformation but with partial severity, unlike Renard, whose woge revealed localised Zauberbiest patches of bone, sinew and gum. Den tended to grey out with the lines of his shoulders and jaw growing harsher, his eyes a little smokier around the edges and the overall muscle definition more finely cut, but he was still very recognisably Denny. He remembered the first night Den moved in with him and the kids after he'd lost his flat: he tripped and nearly dropped a heavy box on Carianne's bouncy soother, diving sideways at the last minute and wogeing in alarm. Poor Den was very self-conscious about displaying his 'less dashing angles' and had asked if he felt revolted by it. Jan felt a little warmer just recalling that conversation: he felt quite a few things when Den woged, but revulsion wasn't one of them.

"Are you even listening?" Mrs Maple barked eventually, and Jan put his hands out for Jacob.

"May I?"

She looked confused. "You want to hold him?"

"Just for a moment. If that's alright. I've apologised to you and I'd like to say sorry to him."

She looked slightly mollified and handed her little boy over in a bundle. Jan sat him on his forearm and jiggled him until he giggled, keeping one hand firmly round his back and arms. He tuned his ears in for the heartbeat and it was, as suspected, very slow for a little one.

"He seems cheerful," he observed mildly. And then ventured a suggestion. "Have you taken him for a thyroid function check, by any chance? He seems to struggle a little with concentration and alertness."

Mrs Maple stared. "A what?"

Jan explained, trying to be reasonably concise. Theo had acquired an unnatural tan (even for June) when he was two, and came over all groggy, so when Jan took him to the doctor, the guy had suggested the possibility of Addison's syndrome and packed him off to the children's endochrine clinic in Wassenaar to run some tests. A thyroid function test had come as standard and he was absolutely fine, but as hypothyroidism had been an early concern, the symptoms had been set out for him in detail. It turned out that Annalise had simply been leaving their little boy out in the sun way too often for way too long while he was at work, and Theo kept getting heat stroke. It was Jan's first indication of Annalise's growing mental illness. Banishing that particular memory, he gave Jacob a gentle squeeze, handed him back to Mrs Maple and got one of Dr Maier's cards out of his wallet to arrange the blood test.

She took it and looked like she was going to cry. "Thank you. I was so worried about..."

"...what a regular hospital would find?"

She nodded briskly and wiped her face with the back of her hand. "We're non-fee-payers at Beeber's Babies, you know."

"I didn't," he said quietly, but was glad that the open door policy was helping someone. "Health insurance a little behind as well?"

She laughed hopelessly. "What insurance? He's been on a waiting list to get his glue-ear fixed at a free clinic for the past six months."

That explained the deafness, he supposed. "Why don't you use Beeber's health insurance cover? Get him bumped up the list a little? They could fix it in a couple of weeks."

"I didn't know there was any!"

There wasn't. But there was going to be, Jan decided. He'd meet up with Sally after the festival and get the paperwork sorted out over dinner, or something. "Now you do—"

"—Ah... Mr Vergeer... isn't that your friend over there? He's in ..."

'A bit of a state', she probably would've finished if she hadn't trailed off, and following her line of sight, he could see why. Jan's jaw dropped. Den was slumped back in a chair, his head tipping backwards as Livvy cleaned a bunch of gore off his face.

"God almighty! I'm sorry, please excuse me..."

He jogged over to Rosalee's stall, putting his hand behind Carianne's head to stop her from banging back and forth against his chest. He circled the table, staring disbelievingly at all the damage. Black eye, cut lip, red hair on one side and in his eyebrow, a freshly bloodied tee-shirt...

Denny seemed to sense his building anger and flashed him a sheepish grin. "Um...Boo. Look, I know we agreed on low-key..."

"Fuck low-key, I'm going to rip his arms and legs off." Jan unstrapped Carianne and handed her to Nick, who'd just jogged back over from the race track. "Where's Barnes?"

"Hey... it's the banana queen! C'mere, bunny!" Nick switched to a slightly more normal voice. "Barnes has gone."

"He can't have gone far. Which direction?" Jan rolled up his sleeves and became aware of them all goggling at him. He put his hands up to his face and hair, wondering if he'd part shifted and was too angry to feel it properly. No, he was still human. "Why are you all looking at me like I'm an alien?"

Monroe broke the stare-fest. "Uh... aren't you non-violent?"

"In principle. There's always some varied practice to go with principle, though and I feel some bad practice coming on. WHERE DID HE GO?" He glanced back over at Denny, who was holding a wipe to his head with a big silly grin all over his face. "Stop smirking, Den!"

"Why?" Den bounced his eyebrows. "I'm quite enjoying this display of wild displeasure at my fairly minor injuries."

"MINOR!?"

Monroe slid in front of him and put his hands up on his shoulders. "Dude... it's been a long time... or maybe the first time...that you've been around this many wesen altogether. I think maybe all these wesen hormones in the air are... kinda... bringing your more 'natural' Koninglowen to the surface. Maybe just take a breath... say 'ommmm'."

"Om."

"With a little conviction, Jan! Come on you guys, help out a little..."

Denny chuckled wildly into his palm as he was subjected to a group lion-calming chant, which, while well-meaning, was more irritating than anything else. Jan rolled his eyes and 'ommmed' half-heartedly. If Denny was well enough to giggle... Bud was the only one not humming, standing at the corner of the table with his arms looped round Janie's shoulders. Jan looked curiously at him. He'd never seen Bud look so relaxed.

Bud seemed to notice his wind-down, too. "G-guys, I think he's fine now."

"Thank you," Jan said sincerely, intending that for Bud, rather than the rest of the cheeky bunch, who'd now turned the humming into an art form, with Nick trying to get Carianne to join in by waving her banana at her.

"Bud was awesome," Denny said. "He belted Barnes with a socking great lump of wood."

"Did you?" Jan struggled to picture this. "Good lord."

"Your whole m-merciless and pleasant advice is really paying off for me," Bud reported cheerfully. "Still Mr Nice guy, but ... "

"He knows how to wield a log," Janie finished for him, giggling slightly.

Jan frowned. "Merciless and pleasant?"

"Yeah! It's t-totally working out."

"Bud, I said merciless_ly_ pleasant..." Jan was distracted by Den folding himself over the edge of the table, hiding his face pointlessly in his forearms, his shoulders shaking with glee as Livvy tried to peel him upright again to finish cleaning him up. "Never mind. Whatever works for you. Just don't hit your mother in law with a log, ok?"

His cell went off and he found another message from Stefan. His kid brother was as sparing with his text characters as ever: _whr r u?_

_Stall 83, close to the welcome desk,_ Jan returned. He was looking forward to seeing him. He didn't get shore leave often.

_K, c u soon_

He tuned back into the conversation and Monroe was still looking at Denny sceptically as his eyes rolled slightly while Livvy balanced his head in her hand and kept trying to get the gore off with a fresh wipe. Jan held back from diving in and taking over.

"Y'know... I think Rosalee should check you over."

"Yeah...'lright."

He saw Nick look up from his humming match with Carianne, vaguely concerned. "Where is she?"

"She had to go to the can. Been a while, but it's been like that lately. She'll say she needs the bathroom, and then after my beard's grown to my knees and new tectonic plates have formed in the earth's crust... I get to see her again."

"Maybe we should go see if she's ok," Nick pointed out. "Just in case... hypothetically... she might be feeling a little strange. Or something."

Jan bit back a smile. Oh Nick... such a nice guy and ... such a shit liar. Accordingly, Monroe's eyes narrowed.

"Why would she be feeling 'hypothetically' strange, Nick?"

"No reason! You know what they say about this stage of labour... ah... some women sometimes come over a little fain—"

"Nick! You knew she felt faint and didn't say anything?" Monroe's eyes glowed and his Blutbad flashed to the surface.

Nick picked his way backwards, away from the irate flannel thing that had taken over his best buddy. "There's probably nothing to worry about!"

"How could you keep that to yourself? This is my little boy we're talking about here!"

"Ok look, she stumbled a little and panicked me, and then she stretched and she was fine. And she promised she'd call you if she had another 'moment'."

"Still worth telling me, Nick!"

Nick quit reversing and stood his ground, glaring up. "Ok Monroe, you're mad and I get that, but you cannot hit a Grimm holding a baby and a banana."

"It's not in my list of wesen 'nevers'."

"It's in _my_ list," Jan said mildly, reclaiming his daughter from Nick. "Gents... shall we just go and see if she's ok?"

"On my way," Monroe huffed and stomped off towards the race tracks, Nick in hot pursuit.

Jan turned back to Denny. "I should stay there for a few more minutes. We'll call you if we need you."

"Righto."

He turned and followed the others, strapping Carianne back onto his front. Monroe might have a point about the whole mass-wesen-combination effect on his own wesen hormones: while he was happier than he'd been for a long time, he was also much more inclined to anger quickly, as his kind were supposed to. Maybe it was a Pride protection thing... accelerated. Speaking of which... he glanced over to where he'd last seen Theo, at the zipwire, and grinned to see his son getting the little ones into an orderly queue, to Barry Rabe's total obvious relief. Maybe Pride protection wasn't such a bad thing.

He got another text from Stefan as they approached the track, this one in fuller english. _Any forbidden species today? Teenage blutbad pack in the woods... they don't look like they intend to blend._

Jan winced. _Keep an eye out please and call me if they're still heading this way._

**X x X**

Nick caught up with Monroe at the row of portables, where Hank was slowly feeding Wu a candy floss stick pinch by pinch and trying to get him to ease down. He felt bad that Wu got to see Barnes erupt like that — most of the fight had been woge-free, at least where humans were concerned. Renard stood over the pair of them, watching the track and gave him a grave nod as he approached. Monroe walked down the line of Johns, trying to work out which one Rosalee was in.

Nick put a hand on Wu's shoulder. "You ok?"

"So-so. Could've done without the sudden buffalo. And the gore. I did wonder where all that was coming from, cause... I thought the guy brought a knife to a fistfight or something, until he... " Wu stared back off into the distance again and Hank handed him a little more floss.

Hank nodded sagely. "It's one of the nutsy things about only seein' what's going on when they _totally_ lose it. Like when Nick leapt on this skinny teenage kid and was smacking him down through the floor... turned out he was half lion, only without _any _of Jan's charm."

Wu frowned. "What was the other half?"

"Galapagos tortoise," Nick said and Wu's eyes bugged out of his head.

"Where the _hell_ did the parents meet? Was it some kind of insane internet dating situation with handfuls of untruths being thrown in on both sides?"

Nick chuckled. "He was a test tube experiment."

"Of course. Because we all want a vicious turtle in the family."

Nick tuned into Monroe talking quietly to one of the porta-doors. He looked like he was trying to remain calm, which wasn't good.

"Honey, it's probably just a little stiff... maybe if you bang the lever up with your hand?"

"Tried that!" yelled the toilet.

"How about a wiggle?"

"Hang on... I ... oh..."

Nick froze at the 'oh'... it was similar to her earlier floppy sound when she splatted against him mid-sentence. Monroe was rigid outside the door and even Jan looked pensive.

"Honey... you ok in there?"

"I'm ah... oh... oh, wow... that's a little fierce..."

Monroe stared around wildly. "Guys... help me get this door off. Now!"

Nick bolted over and just as they tried finding handholds round the plastic door frame, an unbelievably loud SCREAM knocked them all back a few paces, paling them all. Renard slid away sideways and was abruptly returned to his spot by Hank.

"Uh, no. You want to be in the Scooby gang? You share the good times as well as the bad."

Renard looked alarmed. "This is a good time?"

"Come help with this door."

Monroe woged, trembled and addressed the toilet nervously. "Ah... you ok?"

"Contraction," the toilet explained in a more normal voice. "I'm... I'm ok. The last one was about five minutes ago, but it wasn't so fierce, so... maybe it's time to..."

"GUYS, THE DOOR!"

Monroe didn't need to yelp again. Nick had the smallest hands but a strong grip and pull, managing to get fingers between the plastic slab and the frame beneath it, creating a space for Jan to pull at the top, Monroe and Hank to the right, and Wu and Renard to the right. The door creaked promisingly. Predictably, the tannoy crackled into life above their heads.

"_Could the gentlemen vandalising the porta-washroom please cease and desist. Excess testosterone can be expended at the woge-battling area in the Maple copse."_

Hank met Nick's eye and stared. "Is she for real?"

"I-I'm sorry," Bud spluttered from behind. "I'll go do something about Betty. Get her off the microphone for a little while."

They almost had a grip on every part of the door and Nick heaved. "Ok... on three. One, two... THREE!"

The door snapped outwards and off its hinges as Jan applied pressure with both hands, reaching up and over the top of Nick, and he was left holding it and moving it to one side while Nick and the others picked themselves up off the grass. Rosalee tumbled out, looking flushed but relieved.

"Thanks. My waters went."

"Your waters...? Oh my God... we gotta go, hon."

"Yeah. It's time."

Nick found himself grinning inanely as they moved off across the grass to start packing up the stall, but the smile dropped off his face as he saw Denny stumble out from behind the stall, trying to hold up a pack of six or seven young Blutbaden in their teens or early twenties, shoving their way through people and making it pretty clear that they were around to mess things up. Livvy was standing in their way too, making his blood run cold: she was still on crutches. Denny pushed her behind him, and then he had reinforcements... a younger Jan-alike — Stefan — more Renard's size than Jan's, running up from behind the Blutbaden, picking up Livvy, and bearing her away to one side, Livvy clipping him indignantly round the ear and yelling about the damage that crutches could do in crotches. Whatever he was doing here, Nick was grateful to him for protecting her.

Bud's friend Arnold ran up towards them in a panic.

"They trashed my welcome box!"

Monroe glanced back at him desperately, while walking slowly with Rosalee. "Uh... kind of got my hands full..

Nick clapped him on the shoulder as he passed. "Don't worry, we're on top of it."

Jan met his eyes and nodded, then handed Carianne to Renard. "If you wouldn't mind..."

"I do mind. I was planning on helping."

"As a 'human'? Please don't, unless you plan to blow your cover."

Nick agreed. "You need to stay hidden. We're on this."

Renard held his hands out gingerly and took Carianne, and as soon as he drew her in close, she offered him her banana with a degree of violence in the direction of his nose. "Don't do that again, please. Let's find your brother."

"Zipwire," Jan said shortly. "Thank you."

He fell in alongside Nick and woged partway, hair coming down to his shoulders in a mane, teeth showing. Wu fell in on the other side, as did Hank. Nick looked at them doubtfully.

"You sure? They're blutbad."

Wu winced. "Like Monroe?"

Nick walked faster towards the gatecrashers, balling his fists as the Blutbad kids decided that they were going to circle Monroe and Rosalee, who'd been trying to walk round them and avoid trouble. Rosalee was wogeing with stress, and Monroe did too — defensively so, growling and encouraging them to step off a little. Stefan and Denny managed to pull a couple of the kids away to widen their escape route, but they were hugely outnumbered, and the Blutbaden were taking the whole Blut-Bau partnership very personally.

"Wow," one of them remarked. "He's dating his dinner. Unusual."

"I swear to God, you hurt my girl and I will rip you down the middle. Haven't had to do that for a few years... but for her..."

"No, Wu, not like Monroe," Nick muttered. "He's Wieder. They're much, much nastier and they're clearly not here to soak up the mingling atmosphere."

"So long as they keep their teeth to themselves and don't go marking any trees, I'm good to tackle them," Hank muttered, and Wu agreed with a terse nod. Nick still wasn't convinced until he looked back and saw the crowd behind him gathering as backup. Frank and Barry Rabe; Henri and Jason, the Sabretooths of Mauvais Meats; Arnold the Eisbiber, trembling like Jelly but sticking his chest out; Roddy... with two friends; a woman he was pretty sure he'd met in the correction centre after going to check on scary April... and who confirmed her identity for him immediately by wogeing to Lowen. Five species... that he could _count_. And more were joining ranks.

Nick stalked up to the guy who seemed to consider himself the pack Alpha and dragged him to one side by his collar, not yet looking into his eyes. He wanted to keep the Grimm under wraps until he was good and ready. "You've got one minute to get yourself and your friends out of here, and then we're taking you down."

The kid seemed amused until Nick snapped his hand up to his throat and squeezed. "Tell your buddies to let my friends go, first."

The Blutbad grabbed his wrist and tried to pull it away, but Nick tightened his grip, creating slight throttling sounds.

"I mean it, kid."

The young guy's eyes swam red and his canines extended. He was strong. He managed to talk even through a reduced windpipe, his bass voice carrying the words clearly enough. "Tough talk for a human."

The tannoy crackled into life and Nick could've shot Janie's mom on the spot just for opening her mouth. Jesus. He should've Grimmed her earlier...

"_Could the young gentlemen in the leathers kindly leave the festival area before the Grimm and his friends create a lot of dram__—__"_

"_MOM!" _Janie's voice, just next to the mic.

"_Betty K-K-Kennedy, you get off this microphone right now or I-I'll stuff you in your own fridge a-and re-set everything so you g-get roasted 'stead of chilled!"_

"_Bradley Wurstner! How dare you!"_

"_Get off the d-damn microphone... for God's sake, can you not see what's going on here...?"_

Nick saw the pack alpha stare down at him, and glared up fiercely. The kid tried scrabbling backwards out of his grip, but only managed 'GRIMM!' as a warning to his friends before belting Nick round the face and trying to twist free. Nick's eyes were crossed for all of four seconds, but he could see clearly enough to notice that Monroe and Rosalee had managed to slip away from the centre of the pack while the Alpha's buddies were busy with the group woge-and-roar. Nick shook the dizziness out of his head, lunged after the Alpha, and hit him right back...

**X x X**

_**TBC... in which inventive fight tactics are applied, Nick discovers that Grimms are not allowed to be squeamish, and the Scooby gang gains a new member...**_


	6. War and Peace?

_**Ok… and here we go! The full punch-up, lol. Now… I have a confession to make. Very sorry folks, but because there ended up being so many mini-scenes in this section I ended up splitting the chapter otherwise it would've take an age to update. So… Nick has yet to show his squeamish side (sorry!) but all other prophecies from the last chapter hold true!**_

_**The upside is that I've managed to take in as many review comments as possible, so hopefully the slighter longer version will still bring smiles around. I hope so. Anyway… thanks so much as ever for the comments and reviews and I hope you continue to enjoy…**_

**X x X**

Monroe remained at half woge, not prepared to go to full Alpha unless he absolutely had to because he couldn't guarantee being able to hold onto himself properly if he went all the way. He didn't trust his emotional control in that state and it was semi-irreversible in the short term… kinda like drinking three quarters of a bottle of Bourbon and expecting to be able to sober up after a single cup of coffee. His eyes itched red and his pulse thumped through his veins but at least he knew what he was doing _right now_ and got Rosalee into the golf cart, flinging himself into the driver's seat, rummaging for keys. His eyes widened as he realised why there were no keys.

Denny had the keys.

Hell and DAMN! DENNY HAD THE KEYS!

He looked over to where the blonde giant was using one Blutbad as a missile to take down another and was reasonably reassured that he was on top of things and would remain so… just long enough for him to whip round, take Rosalee's hand and reassure her. Her huge brown eyes widened and her vixen showed, the shapely lower lip wobbling through the red fur. He could see in her eyes that she hated herself for showing that moment of fear, even in front of him.

"I'm just gonna collect our chauffeur and focus his mind a little bit. Less marauding, more midwifery. Ok? I'll be back with him in… less than a minute."

"Alright," she panted, but gripped the side pole of the buggy with one hand and the front seat with the other, turning her knuckles white and gritting her teeth. "Three minutes between contractions!"

"Oh… crap! Alright! I'm on it!"

Monroe leapt from the buggy and was just heading into the fray when Wu nipped round him and stuck the two huge toy blue-nosed bears into the rear seats.

"Denny wanted them," he said glassily, and Monroe suspected the guy was in a trance. He clapped him on the shoulder.

"Outstanding bear rescue. Mind the fox for me?"

"Will do."

"Excuse me."

Nick and Jan would have to catch them up. Their presence would be good for the calm, the strength and the supply of towels and earplugs, but there was a bigger picture going on here that they had to deal with, and for his own part, Monroe had to get the most critical people on the move. He picked out Denny through the ruckus and was alarmed to see him on his knees at the foot of a tree, grabbing his bloodied side and resting his face against the bark, white-lipped and breathing hard.

No, no no… no. He wasn't having that. He was NOT HAVING an incapacitated nurse. Uh uh. He lunged forward, ready for short, focussed war on the teenagers of his kind, felling one of them with a single slug round the face, when Denny came under attack from the side.

_Nearly_… came under attack.

Livvy shot between Denny and his attacker so suddenly that even Monroe stared. The young Blutbad stopped, smirked at her and her shiny top, then dropped screaming and choking as she sprayed him in the face with the deodorant. She finished the job with a well-aimed orthopaedic boot between the legs, giving Monroe time to get Denny up on his feet.

"He always keeps a spare in Carrie's changing bag," Livvy explained to Monroe. "Not that I obsessively notice such things."

"Course not, love." Denny shot her a rueful grin, tinged with exasperation. "Cheers. Seriously. But will you _please_ get somewhere safe? I thought Stefan moved you away!"

"He did. I got my weapons and returned. I'll be damned if I'll be hefted around by some smug, under-aged Jan-a-like with—" She grunted in protest as she was swept back up off the floor. "GET OFF, GODDAMIT!"

"NO!"

Monroe and Denny shared a relieved, worn, half-smile as Stefan ignored the blows round the head and jogged her out of distance from the main pack, depositing her by the supplies truck. She looked furious ― even more so when he jogged back to the fray, leaving her stranded with the Mauvais Dentes boys. While Monroe totally got that Denny needed to make sure she was ok, they now had priorities: he tugged his friend's arm over his shoulders and started yanking him towards the golf cart. Denny mercifully shook off the last effects of the painful blow to the side and managed to get weight back on his feet, jogging along as quick as he could alongside him.

"How far between?" Denny asked.

"Three minutes!"

An extended, shrill scream that shook the tree rafters and silenced the Blutbad chilled Monroe's blood to a faster rate of flow. He swallowed but his voice still came out as a squeak.

"Possibly less, now!"

"Shi―" Denny cleared his throat and grinned unconvincingly. "Nah, that's fine."

Monroe glared sideways. "You were going to say shit, which is pretty different from 'fine'."

"You fellas have got a thing about that word, haven't you?"

They approached the cart and Monroe's face fur stood up at the sight of the unconscious Blutbad almost at the foot of it. Oh God… _so_ close to his girl. He ran round the cart and snatched her up in his arms, squeezing her in a lather of utter panic. The state was beginning to become semi-permanent and he wondered if it was even beginning to suit him. When they got through all this, and little Bruno grew up and moved away to some hovel with a girlfriend, he might suggest that they move to England, get hideously rich on wesen therapies and corrupt their way into buying him a peerage… just so he could introduce himself as 'Lord Lather of Utter Panic' to commemorate surviving all this crap. She squeezed him back but as she peeled away, she pointed smiling at Wu, who was wider-eyed than ever, but nonetheless victorious in his first mano-a-mano with a Blutbad.

"I'm absolutely fine. He was amazing, honey. He went absolutely _psycho_. Think Jet Li on acid. The furry SOB didn't stand a chance."

Monroe stared at Wu, suddenly remembering that he was human. "You did?"

"He came near the fox and the stuffed bears," Wu mumbled. "No one's terrorising any bears or foxes on my shift."

Denny clapped Wu warmly on the shoulder and started the golf cart engine. "Good man! Go help Sean on the perimeter, maybe?"

Monroe hung on for dear life as Denny performed a 5-point turn doing about 30mph with each jerk, but was relieved beyond measure as they rocketed away through the woods to the safety of the cars.

**X x X**

Sean had to shove his suspicions of who he thought he'd seen to one side for now. Gabriel Soutaines could wait… the result of his stirring could not.

He continued his assertive but ignorant Captain routine, calmly suggesting to mothers that they get their children into the refreshment tent so that a protective perimeter could be formed. They did a supremely good job of holding the fright deep in the centre of their eyes while pushing smiles on their faces as they herded their little ones and not so little ones under the canvas and over to the food. Theo ran in with some of his friends and Sean wasn't particularly surprised to see them instantly shove the furniture around to form a barricade. Building a fortress, no doubt. Kids were finely tuned to danger: particularly wesen ones.

Quite a few of the guys from the front end of the fight by Nick, Hank and Jan were moving over to widen the protection circuit: the leather-jacketed Jagerbar who'd taken over supervising the zipwire moved on over, helping a limping Reinigen ― also in a leather jacket ― followed by the two Mauvais Meats sabretooths from the deli on Nelson Street. Wurstner War III continued to crackle over the PA system and the Jager-Rein pair paused to listen at the entrance to the tent.

"_I never said you were a lousy cook, Bud! I simply commented that you had a little trouble bringing a decent dinner together!"_

The Jagerbar looked up to the insulting voice in the sky and gaped. "That's cold!"

"_That's b-because you turn my burners down! You come in the kitchen and smile and make small talk and five minutes later I'll g-go shut off the b-beeper and find half-cooked pasta because it hasn't boiled!"_

"Oh I _hate _that," the Reinigen muttered. "My Dad used to do that in the trailer."

"She's shutting his burners off then telling him he can't cook? Oh… that's gotta burn!"

"Don't think _anything_ gets the chance to burn with her around!"

As the young guys tutted sympathetically, Sean felt he'd had enough of the audience interaction. The loud domestic row was useful in that it was distracting the Blutbaden trying to take down Nick's pack at the North entrance, but something else was niggling at him. He had a cold, hollow feeling like when he'd waited just that little bit too long for an informant to come back to him… and discovered their death through another, completely terrified spy. They needed more defences. Even Carianne was stuffing her face into his shoulder socket and she didn't strike him as a nervous baby.

As the Jagerbar passed him to patrol the south copse, Sean put a hand out. "I need some help. You are...?"

"Barry Rabe." The guy indicated his limping friend. "This is Roddy."

Sean tried to keep his lingo vague and human. "I think more gang members are coming in. We need to re-structure our defences. As he's wounded―"

Roddy shrugged. "Just a scrape chafing my boot. A bandage'll fix it."

"Good. Then I need you both inside the tent ― interior guards." The guys nodded without argument, which made him happy. He then handed over the tiny girl to the limping Roddy, who pulled a doubtful face. Sean remained stern. "I need my hands free. The little girl is Carrie. Her brother is the Sith _without_ the undead face-paint. He pointed at Theo, marshalling his friends behind a table. "You will guard them… and the rest of them… with your lives."

"This is why we're not hot on humans," Rabe muttered. "You're kind of pushy. Oh buddy ― beware the toy. That's all I'm going to say on the matter."

"Uh... uh... right..." Roddy took Carianne, looking at the banana with correct suspicion. "How long you gonna be?"

"Not long," Sean said briskly, and marched over to the overturned table, leaning down to Theo. "Serious statement: STAY IN THE TENT."

"Ok!" The little boy piped, then frowned. "Where's Matty? He had the rest of our gear."

Sean clocked into Matty's GPS signal on his cell and jogged out front of the tent to visually correspond the dot on his screen with the landscape in front of him. As he moved towards the kiddie 'make a hut' section (where Matty's dot was static), a good dozen kids sat around the tables, fiddling with a mountain of craft materials, all intent on their work. And two shadows emerged from the trees, not 100 yards away. He was about to gesture to the two teenage girls overseeing the stall when one of them snapped upright and sniffed, throwing an arm out to her friend. The watchful girl woged to Blutbad, her friend to Coyotl, and proving their own weight in gold, they shared an urgent look and ushered the little ones rapidly towards the tents with promises of instant cake.

Matty's dot remained at the table. Sean sprinted over, snatched the little boy up from underneath, with his box of 'supplies', and ran back to the tent. The Blutbaden weren't running, but they were closing in very, very fast. He put Matty into the fortress being set up by the other little ones and bolted back out into the forest. He had reconnaissance to do.

**X x X**

".._and when you visit, you bring two ice b-boxes and three hampers l-like you're expecting starvation or something_..."

Jan paused in pinning his Blutbad and cringed up at the PA speaker jammed into the tree. "She does _that_? Good God. How irritating."

The lupine roars the teenager released into the mud suggested that he could care less, and he kept trying to twist to escape Jan's grip. The domestic row thundering through the air faded into the background as Jan grabbed the kid's shoulders, lifted him five inches or so, and dashed him briskly back down on the ground, where he remained motionless. Jan picked him up and tossed him into a holly bush on top of three of his unconscious friends.

He stretched, keeping a watchful eye for further attackers because there was something very wrong with this picture: initially he'd counted seven gang members, yet _everyone_ seemed to have their hands full fighting the violent gate-crashers, which was fundamentally, mathematically wrong.

He looked over to Nick, who dipped towards his Alpha combatant with balletic grace, scooped a shoulder under his Blutbad's belt, and sent the denimed maniac flying over his back with a thud. He back-stepped swiftly to kidney-stamp, and the kid slumped… for the moment. Jan knew it wouldn't be long before he was back up and someone else's problem, and Arnold still hadn't returned from the supplies truck with the spare lengths of rope. Monroe, Rosalee and Denny had gone on to safety, thank God.

Nick met his eye, only slightly breathless and equally concerned. "Where are they all coming from?"

"The first group look like the advance guard, Nick. LEFT BACK!"

Nick jerked his elbow in reverse and brought a springing youngster to a halt with a cross-eyed, bloody-lipped crash as he dropped face-down on the moss. Jan added him to the Blutbad pile in the holly bush.

"You didn't feel like wogeing for this?"

"No. Either in partial or total woge, it's an energy-burner. I'm happy as I am so long as I stay on the move." Speaking of which… Nick's captive seemed to have escaped. "Where's your Alpha?"

Nick looked down at the bare patch of ground and slammed the tree with the side of his hand in frustration, gritting his teeth. "I'll find him."

Jan didn't even want to think about the direction that the Alpha could've taken, particularly as he was up the front battling, while his kids were in the enclosure tents. He was ready to pace over there and disembowel any blutbad that went near the place, but… he breathed in hard. Monroe was wieder. Maybe wieder could happen to these kids, too. On the right path. But if not…

"When you find your Alpha," Jan muttered, "Just do what you need to do. I've sent back a rear guard to help Sean defend the tents, but ... the kids are back there. _Theo and Carrie are back there_ and I'm counting on others to defend them. So if you need to take drastic action with this kid…. Take it. that's all I'm saying."

"I will. Don't worry ― I'm not suppressing my Grimm, here. But Renard won't let the kids get hurt."

Jan nodded curtly. It wasn't the same as standing over the kids himself, but there were more of the gang kids coming: he could hear them hiding badly in the woods.

Nick smiled over his shoulder as he jogged off. "And if I know Theo... he won't let the 'kids' get hurt either."

Jan felt supremely proud and completely exasperated in exactly the same moment: he knew exactly what Nick meant about Theo's own protective nature, but that wasn't the point. As much as he loved and admired his son's ludicrously refined sense of diligence, he wished Theo (and everyone else) would remember more often that he was only _three_. Just because he _could _marshal a six-tot coup in five minutes, it didn't mean people should expect him to.

As for himself… happier to fight as a 'human', right now. At least it didn't sap all his energy.

**X x X**

She'd never felt so vulnerable yet protected at the same moment in her life as when Monny lifted her out of the golf buggy and over to his Beetle, slotting her into a back seat. She felt the bruising tension of another contraction coming, but tried sitting on it and puffing through it as Denny shut off the buggy and sprinted over, plonking himself on the back seat on the far side.

"Right love, you've got a choice to make. Are you close enough that you want _me_ in the back seat and Eddie driving, or do you want him with you and me breaking every traffic law known to man? "

She dragged her hand down her face. Honestly? She didn't know. She only knew one thing, which was that she wanted gas and air. NOW. Her time for stoicism had come, had its day and gone, and now… for God's sake… she just needed pain relief. Monny met her eyes and took her hand, making the decision no easier. Yeah, she desperately needed him right next to her. But Denny's driving meant faster arrival to the point of physical mastery of the situation...

"Monny in the back," she gasped. Maybe his arm around her could calm the stress from getting out of the forest.

"Right you are." Denny fired up the Beetle and as they all got locked into their seatbelts he sent the vehicle flying forward at a speed that the poor little yellow thing was not at all designed for.

"Denny! Road Rules!"

"Eddie! Labour!" Denny retorted, and sped up to 80.

She linked fingers with Monroe and buried her face in his shoulder as they shot through the curving lanes for minute after minute until they heard a loud curse, felt the screech of brakes but nonetheless heard repeated bangs.

"WANKERS!" Denny observed, flinging his door open and climbing out. He took one look at the ground and stuffed himself back on the driver seat cursing furiously, mobile in hand.

Monroe woged, screwed his face up, breathed deeply and shifted back to normal. She squeezed his hand lightly with pride as he fought for an even vocal tone. "Uh... what happened? Hit a pothole or something?"

"Tacks on the road. Sorry mate, but unless you've got four spare tyres, we're going nowhere."

Rosalee dropped her head back against the rear seat cushion, trying to collect her thoughts before the next set of cramps rolled in. There was now no question of getting back to the spice shop for the birth. They might just make Nick's place... or Monroe's. The hospital had never been an option: baby Calvert/Monroe may well show up hairy. Denny was already leaving voice messages with Jan, Hank and Nick.

She leant forward a little to relieve the pressure on her lower back and felt something inside give... a secondary water pouch…

"PURSE! NOW! THE PADS!"

The guys had a split second to respond before another contraction rocked her, wrenching together every muscle from her groin to upper middle, back and front, in one wrenching snap and making her scream her head off, however much she tried to suppress it. They both paled and she spotted Denny frenetically emptying her purse onto the passenger seat.

"What am I looking for?"

"PADS!"

"Pads... right.. hunting..."

Monroe clamped his arm round her shoulders, taking her flailing hand as the other gripped the shotgun seat in front, massaging dents into the leather as Denny tossed a small hand-trowel, a brick and a packet of felt cloths out of her purse.

"Got them yet?"

"No! I'm still filtering through the less... typical items in your handbag.."

But finally Denny flung a plastic wad over the back seat and she released the rear door to find a bush to secure herself in, her face flaming. It was bad enough having her man's best buddies on immediate call for medical birth emergencies without them being witness to the other involuntary sides of birth like water failure…

… or abrupt cramp.

"OH MY GOD!" she yelled from the middle of the rhododendrons, and both lads came flying, hovering anxiously at the edge of the bush as another contraction kicked in.

"Uh... just tell us if you're decent, and-"

She felt everything bearing down again… like baby intended to throw himself out in the bushes. "I NEED TO LIE DOWN... NOW!"

To their credit, they obeyed quickly. Monroe had her arms and head, Denny her legs and waist, and they pretty much sprinted her to the back of the Beetle, clinging on to her gently. The contraction passed, life became manageable again, and Monroe shot off an urgent text to Hank to add to the pile already sent. She couldn't give birth on this open road. She just _couldn't_. It hurt enough already and she knew she had a couple more centimetres to dilate before anything serious started happening.

Sweat rolled off her face. As brave as she'd thought she could be, she wasn't sure she could face the next however many contractions without a little more chemical help.

**X x X**

Carly wished her Dad would get back. Sure, he was a good scrapper and he'd worked out a lot in the months since she'd been abducted by the 'uncles', but getting stuck with a limping rat and a smug Jagerbar wasn't really her idea of 'protection'. Holly was trying to look cool and calm but was shifting back and forth from Blutbad at hyperventilation speed. Carly wasn't sure whether Holly was trying to actively go feral, or prevent herself from doing so. She wasn't the chattiest classmate going, though Carly did understand that there were some 'language barrier' issues to be worked through.

Holly stood just inside the opening of the tent, her nose high and body tense. Carly noticed the Reinigen guy― pretty cute as a human ― shoot admiring glances at Holly's butt in between attempts at defending himself from the baby's toy. Carly huffed an irritated sigh: Holly woged _so_ much better than her. As a just-for-example, a shift to Blutbad added mass texture and volume to Holly's hair and she gained bulk and muscle tone, whereas her own light brown thatch just stuck out like she'd stuck a claw into an electrical socket. Not fair.

As Holly seemed preoccupied with being paranoid, she went over to the little fortress that the kids had built from overturned tables and leant over one of them to see them hard at work doing... something. With a box of short poles, play-dough and lego. "What you little guys up to?"

"We're making an armoury," replied the biggest kid, a dark-blonde Sith, and carried on with what he was doing. How old was this little guy? Four? Five at most?

"You're kidding, right?"

He looked up gravely with huge blue-green eyes lined with black lashes. "My dad says you never joke about things like an armoury."

"O-kay…"

Carly strolled over to the guys who'd unwillingly taken custody of the baby. She was growing steadily agitated, waving her toy around fiercely, curling her lower lip and scrunching her face up. It was obvious just wanted a hug. Carly was just going to offer to soothe her when the older Jagerbar guy sighed and eye-rolled.

"Roddy, you're not this meek arranging band rehearsals, are you? If it's bothering you that much, do something about it. You're the big guy here… _be the boss_."

"Back it up, Barry…"

But as he got thumped for the umpteenth time for failing to cuddle, 'Roddy' took the baby's banana away and put it on the floor. Baby went ballistic. There was no other phrase for it. Even Carly was alarmed by the display of total anguish, despair and rage emanating from the little girl.

She held her hands out by way of offer. "Shall I… OHMIGOD!"

Baby growled. She growled then furred, face changing rapidly and her whole body downsizing and becoming more angular until she was a tiny cub in a diaper, her shirt slipped down to the ground and her bare, soft shoulders peeking out the top of the white, decorative anti-poop material. The cub-kitten fixed her gaze on Roddy. Her eyes were dark green and staring, a little black tuft rose between ears that stuck out softly like little round tabs, and her mouth was an inverted vee of total displeasure. All three of them stared. Wesen didn't woge that young. They particularly didn't total-shift that young. Was this little girl one of those half-half breeds her father told her about?

Baby cub looked up at them reproachfully, and once over her initial shock, Carly had to bite her lip at how majorly unamused the tiny kitty looked. The boys, meanwhile, were crapping themselves.

"Barry… is that a Koninglowen?"

"Uh… yeah." He looked a little more composed than his buddy: Carly had to give him credit for that.

"H-holy crap. Alright... _Koninglowen_? Didn't anyone think to mention that? Because if I'd known, I wouldn't have... God!"

"Alright, put your rat back in the box, just give her her banana back! Now!"

"How's she going to hold it?"

"For God's sake ― who cares about holding it? Just put it right in front of her. She'll find a way of grabbing it if she wants."

While slightly mollified, the banana restoration did nothing for the baby girl's breed. She circled on the spot, looking increasingly anxious, and Roddy leant forward to stroke her between the ears. His fingertips seemed huge against her little face and Jagerbar Barry leant forward to cup her head in his palm, stroking slightly. "Your folks are round here somewhere, right?"

Carly looked over to Holly to see if she'd seen what was going on, but her friend had disappeared… and she could hear male a Blutbad growling. She looked round the inside of the tent. Crap. No Holly. Maybe she was still vulnerable to the need to run with a pack of her own kind, after all that time alone?

The older Sabre-tooth had left his cast-iron pan on one of the snack tables so she snuck over and grabbed it. It was fearsomely heavy. She heard Holly growling softly… oh no... if she had to hit her friend... but then she tuned in. Holly was flirting, enticing... leading him to a spot further down the tent canvas where there was a slit between two of the major support struts. Knowing how to be really quiet, Carly held her breath and slipped out the front of the tent, down the side and behind the guy grabbing Holly's ass and kissing her neck. At a fairly urgent look from her classmate, she jerked the pan up and dashed it down over his head.

"Bonsoir, idiote," a heavy voice observed soberly, and Carly looked up to see the older Sabretooth standing over the Blutbad while the younger one checked to see if Holly was ok. Holly smiled at him awkwardly, this cute-ish guy in his early twenties with strawberry blonde hair, and watched while he pinned the blutbad down and tied his hands.

Carly smiled apologetically and handed the older Mauvais his skillet back. "Sorry, Sir. Just borrowing it."

"Pas de tout, Mam'selle. Truly, you honour my pan."

Carly suppressed a giggle, as did Holly, as the younger guy rolled his eyes almightily and face-palmed.

"Don't mind Henri. Guy thinks he's D'Artagnan."

"D'Artagnan? _Cyrano_, Jason!... Have you no time for literature around the edges of your MBA?"

"Let me think. Ah… Ah.. Ah… between school and work? NO! Not that you listen to a word of my advice anyway!"

Henri leant towards her confidentially and bounced his eyebrows. "The one you like… the bear in the jacket… he likes you."

"I don't like him!" she spluttered.

"I am an expert in the affairs of the female 'eart—"

"Like you're an expert in marketing?" Jason spluttered.

Henri went on deafly. "The bear wishes to rummage with you. Mark my words. Go… give him a growl. He will love eet."

Carly went bright red and darted back inside, going redder still as Barry flashed her a quick grin. So.. he wanted to rummage with her? She avoided his gaze, but a small part of her wouldn't exactly protest at this….

**X x X**

Nick felt the vibes of the Alpha in the Southern Glade and closed his eyes to centre himself. He could feel a presence... no, more than one nearby, and smelt the lupine smugness of impending attack. He was getting used that, now, after the various attempts to spring him by the north entrance. He stood deliberately vulnerable, eyes apparently open but focussing on the inside for a change in movement, smell or weight in the ground. He was getting way better at that. Was it something his father had mastered? He liked the idea of his Pa presenting an innocent exterior and springing mass surprise on those who would try to attack him for it. But then there was a crackle from a nearby tree and he ground his teeth against instant fury as the latest Wurstner tirade crashed over the airwaves in the glade, completely putting him off his stride.

_"I do not act like you're too poor to have another kid!"_

_"Actually mom, you do. Since the day we said we were taking on Matty for good, it's been 'can you afford it' this, and 'there is no space in your life' that'―"_

_"Well if I react that way, it's because you always make out that you're on the breadline whenever I suggest a vacation! What am I supposed to do other than find ways to help you economise?"_

Nick wasn't entirely sure he gave a crap. Giving up on the summoning of his full Grimm, he stomped to the little booth by the PA system, shot Mrs Kennedy a tight smile and leant over the switchboard, flicking every knob until her tirade became far more local, less piercing, and much less echoey. She stared at him as her rant died off to nothing and he stared right back at her, right in the eyes, daring her to challenge the imposed silence.

She didn't gasp, gawp, shudder, flinch or faint, but gathered up her huge handbag and stalked down the steps of the PA podium with her spine in a straight line, muttering loudly about young men who didn't know familial sacrifice when they saw it. Nick met Bud's eye with a degree of apology.

_She's grimm-proof, pal. It's up to you hereon-in._

_Ain't it ever,_ Bud's returning expression said, and he followed Betty down the steps in a blustering attempt to get some kind of closure.

With the quiet restored, Nick returned to the spot where his hair had stood on end and sniffed. He picked up the high, sour and almost sweet stink of the Alpha (a bit like sour soap), and a friend. The friend was above him...

Nick felt the pressure on the side of his shin at the same moment as the friend smacked a fist into his sternum, almost bashing the lights straight out of him in one blow. He pitched face-down into the moss, feeling the agony and uselessness in his right leg without even putting any weight on it. His chest heaved to suck air past the bruising on his front and as a heavy boot slammed into the back of his shoulder, he pictured that heel working its way through the little heads taking shelter in the tent... and he wasn't letting that happen. Feigning a total lack of pain, Nick flipped on his back and grabbed Alpha-buddy's steel-capped boot, snapping the booted punishment tool against its knee-joint and sending the guy stumbling back with a scream of pain as his ligaments gave way.

The Alpha was temporarily stunned by this reversal of fortunes, standing dumb long enough to give Nick the chance to scissor his legs out and bring him first to his knees, where Nick could reach him to smack his knuckles across his face, then onto his butt, enabling him to lunge over and slam the kid down while he was still confused.

Ignoring the screaming signals of pain from his ankle, Nick straddled the young Blutbad, pinning his wrists down to the ground. He looked down to his waist, where his teeshirt hung in tatters and his jacket zipper hung off loosely. He liked that jacket.

"That's coming out of your allowance, just so you know. What's your name?"

The kid smirked and Nick let go of one wrist long enough to belt him round the face and pin him again before he could react.

"You'd hit a kid?"

"Usually, no. One like you? Repeatedly. Answer the fucking question."

The guy's eyes uncrossed slowly and he muttered out his answer. "Dean Macmillan."

"How did you hear about this festival?"

"A couple guys... were talking about it in the Junkyard Dog."

"What were they saying about it?"

"Just that it was going on!"

Nick looked into the guy's face closely, but he seemed genuinely stunned and insolent in equal measure. He was telling the truth ―thus far. But given their bloodlust, irrationality and determination to rip apart a hard-worn victory of unity, he wasn't compelled to give the kid any slack for being honest.

"So you guys thought you'd tear the place up for shits and giggles?"

"You can't just go mixing the order of things up, man! We keep to ourselves for a reason ― so we don't show up to dumb humans who don't know who's better than them. I bet your Blutbad pal and his foxy bitch aren't having a hospital birth―AGHH!"

For Nick, the crack round the face was necessary just for the word 'bitch'. But the kid wasn't done.

"Cause little Fuschbad's most likely going to turn up all furry, isn't he? Let me guess... home birth followed by a lifetime of avoiding ER? Cause that's the fate of most mixed-breeds. That's why they don't live long."

Realising by now that gemischtwesen ― like Jacob the half-piglet ― were more visible to Hank and Wu than standard breeds, Nick smelt out a history under the aggravation. "You seem well-informed. There's a half-breed in your family, isn't there?"

Macmillan rolled his eyes. "Pop had a missus. You do NOT want to know what their daughter looked like."

"Looked like?" Nick raised his brows. "Where is she now?"

"Dead."

"You?"

"I couldn't possibly say."

The smirk said a lot and Nick found himself tipping the so-called alpha onto his front, pinning both hands under one wrist and digging the knuckles of the other into the small of his back. The kid yelled in pain and he let the pressure off for a moment, letting him catch his breath.

"Let's get back to the point. The guy in the junkyard. Did he speak directly to you? Was he an unruhigbison?"

"I dunno... he didn't actually woge. But I doubt it. Wrong build."

Nick cast back to his brief discussion with Renard after reporting Denny's sighting of Barnes looking for a face in the crowd. "What build? Tall and slim?"

"Tall, yeah. Maybe 6-3 or so. But normal-build."

This wasn't helping, so Nick increased the pressure on his knuckles.

"Fuck... OWW! Alright! Look... I didn't pay much attention to him, ok? The only reason I noticed him or his friend was because tall-guy was clearly hustling and they were hogging the pool table we'd been waiting on for a while, so I started closing in."

"So you didn't directly speak with him?"

"No. He was just talking to his buddy. His friend had an ex-wife or ex-partner or something... and he wondered if she'd show up with her new 'guy'. He got the festival location from his girl because he needs to stay clued up on custody arrangements, and I thought the whole set-up was kind of intriguing, so..."

"So you thought you'd come with some friends to see how much you could screw up?"

The kid stayed silent and Nick realised it was a rhetorical accusation anyway. "Fine, so here's what we're going to do. You're going to give the call to back off all your friends... how many are there?"

"I don't―"

"YES YOU DO!"

" ALRIGHT! ABOUT THIRTY! I texted, Jesus, I can't be exact..."

"You're going to give the call or howl or signal... whatever... to call your friends off right now... or they're _all_ going to be killed rather than arrested. Do you get that?"

The kid looked back with a disbelieving smirk and Nick transferred the hand from his kidney to his throat, taking Jan's blessing of drastic action to the outside.

_"DO YOU GET THAT?"_

The response was a long, reproachful howl that echoed through the woods, and which was responded to by the sound of footfalls on the grounds from the trees, from the north and south copse areas where the festival had been barricaded in. The only question for Nick now was what to do with Macmillan, apart from having him arrested for multiple assault and affray. He couldn't move until the kid was completely restrained, but the pain from the fight was beginning to kick in. He kept his grip on the Alpha's wrist and neck but was never so grateful in his life to see an Eisbiber turn up with rope.

Arnold bent down and looped the guy up neatly, hogtying both wrists and ankles in one go. Then, slightly endearingly (and embarrassingly), he gave a bow and headed back off in the direction of the north copse desk to bind up the guys Jan had left in the holly-bush. Nick couldn't help but wonder how much work he'd created for Renard and Wu.

"Mixed wesen are the end of our lives," Macmillan muttered, and Nick had to laugh. Actually, with the exception of the 'vicious turtle' test-tube kid, the mixed wesen were the sanest he'd come across, even if they were the most vulnerable physically.

"It's the other way round," he replied. "You 'pure' wesen have such a tiny gene pool now, you're all inter-breeding. You're going nuts, marrying into your own gene pool. Since I became a Grimm, there's barely been more than a handful of 'pure' wesen suspects that haven't been complete fucking lunatics compared to those who are half-halfs, so _don't_ tell me that mixing your breeds is weakening you."

"There are bigger guys than me that will make you pay for saying that," Macmillan muttered, and Nick responded by slamming the kid out cold. It was a threat to repeat to Renard, later.

With the adrenaline draining, Nick's brain had fresh opportunity to pay attention to life's smaller details like the lightning bolt signals being sent from his possibly-sprained ankle, the soreness across his ribs and general muscle ache from continuous battle. He clambered off the trussed and motionless Alpha, but didn't get more than a couple of yards before he felt the need to doze off for a couple of minutes with his face in the grass. He lay there, moaning quietly to himself while parts of his body queued up to complain.

He felt a hand on his shoulder, giving it a light squeeze, but couldn't lift his face up just yet. The voice that went with the concerned grip was unmistakably Henri's.

"Il est ici! Non... do not upset yourselves. He is tired, not doomed."

Rapid feet, stopping by his ear. "Nick, you ok, man?"

He pulled his face out of the grass and tried to focus on Hank. "Yeah... just give me a minute. Kind of sore."

"I recommend le pain saucisson. Many, many calories for recovering."

"Bring on the pan... sossi...whatever it was," Nick muttered, tried putting a little weight on his arms to press himself upright, but failed miserably. The problem was solved by Hank and Jerrold, who hauled him to his feet and kind of dangled him across their shoulders while he kept his foot off the ground. His nerves sent screams of protest up and down his leg whenever he moved his ankle, but he managed to keep his cry of protest to a muted 'gnnnn'. He probably twisted it a little.

"Good job, Grimm ― invasion over," Hank confirmed. "Now you're wanted at camp Monroe."

"How're we getting there?"

Hank gave him an apologetic smile and Nick followed his gaze to a bush about 20 yards away, with which Wu was having a vigorous argument. Nick closed his eyes groggily and reopened them, slightly disappointed to be seeing the same weird thing.

"Will what I'm seeing make more sense when we get closer?"

His partner chuckled. "Yeah. Long story short, let's just say you're not getting the Greyhound express back to the cars... the quadbike got vandalised."

Nick heard low rumbling as they approached, Hank and Jerrold pretty much carrying him along, and Jan emerged from the shrub... in _total_ Koninglowen form. Nick stared: if he hadn't seen Mrs Rabe transform into complete bear form, he would think he was cracking up, but it was definitely Jan under the lion's surface. The black mane trailed down between broad shoulders and he was as vast by lion standards as he was by human standards, the top of his head about five and a half feet off the ground.

"He's still wearing boxers," Nick pointed out numbly and Wu shrugged.

"It happened a little faster than he thought it would, and… you know the trouble with lions. They've got no opposable thumbs. So he can't get them off."

Wu looked a little more comfortable with this than Nick thought he might, but then it could be because he'd been buddies with Jan for seven years or so... before he'd even joined SVU as a rookie detective. Nick could understand no-one rushing to help to get the boxers off. Some stuff just went past the expectations of pack rules and male friendship.

Jan strode over and circled before drawing to a stop. Nick was slightly disconcerted to be lifted onto his back, and even more alarmed to be given a huge bag to hold...

"What's this?

Hank chuckled. "Jan's clothes, man!"

...then another huge paper bag was stuffed into his hand as Henri returned with 'restorative snacks'. Nick wondered how he'd carry it all and hang onto Jan.

"Yours is les deux saucissons dans bap with the taste-drowning tomato sauce, as you like it. Jan's is the three steaks dans le pain. Do not feel the snack-size discrimination, good Grimm. He is requiring much energy to return from his King lion sort of shape."

"Right." Nick stuffed the sausage bap in his mouth and started chewing. He had a funny feeling he'd need all the energy he could get to stay on Jan's back. It wasn't like the guy came with stirrups, after all. "You guys packing up Rosie's stall and coming?"

Wu shook his head. "No, no no. You guys can do the whole birthing thing. We're going to get the party re-started and sell all the stuff we can."

**X x X**

Even after Sean thought the danger had passed, a loud scuffle exploded at the back of the tent and there was a roaring, sending the little wesen screaming away to find tables, poles and chairs to hide behind. Sean sprinted forward, tracking round the tent with his eyes to locate Theo, and was pleased to see Rabe leap straight into the Blutbad's path. Rabe grunted as a wild swipe tore across his front, then landed blow after blow to the fanged face until the Blutbad staggered backwards dazed, and pitched over.

The Jagerbar staggered too, and just as Sean put a hand out to steady him, the guy crashed to his knees, pulling a trembling, red, dripping hand out of his jacket. He shifted back to human, sweaty, palllid and completely confused.

"Gemme outta here?" he asked Sean quietly, as the little ones started emerging from under tables and chairs. "This sorta blood's not… for a … kiddie audience."

Sean agreed and pulled Rabe's arm across his shoulders, ready to hoist him up. He had help from Roddy on the other side. There was a low growl and both he and Roddy looked over to see the Blutbad sitting already, eyes glowing and looking venomous. Most of the kids shot back under their tables: three didn't, wielding multi-coloured sticks in their hands like lightsabres.

Sean's blood ran cold. "Theo… get back."

The Blutbad eased forward onto bunched fists and knees, ready to pounce, and Sean was stunned as the young Jagerbar waved fingers at him in invitation, trying to lure his attention away from the little ones as the gatecrasher took a particular interest in the tiny Bauerschwein boy…

"Hey… over here you manky shit! Didn't you have enough, already?"

The Blutbad lunged and Sean intercepted, pinning the snapping, growling teenager down and managing to land a heavy punch right across the cheekbone. This dazed the Blutbad for a brief moment, and then Sean got unexpected help. There was a multi-coloured flash and a triplicate thumps across the snarling face, then the senseless lupine teenager faded back to human. Sean looked across at the three little ones and put his hand out for Theo's weapon, raising his brows expectantly.

It was a hard pole, packed round with kiddieclay and studded with bits of Lego. Sean sighed. He had to admit, it looked very much like… a kanebo. Theo handed it over timidly, putting his hands behind his back and his toes together like a naughty boy.

"You're not in trouble," Sean said shortly. The meekness of the daring three was just comical. "However, you all get zero points for Sith behaviour."

"Oh, that's ok. We're not Siths now. We're Grimms."

"Mini Grimm!" Matty confirmed proudly, swinging his offensive weapon over his shoulder.

Rabe wilted backwards a little and Roddy yelped in alarm. "Barry!"

"_Mini_ Grimms?... did… Burkhardt have kids?"

There was no answering that: Rabe passed straight out. Sean grabbed gratefully at the first aid box that the Coyotl girl brought over and ripped open a huge gauze pad, slapping it into place under the jacket. The wound would leave scars, but it wasn't dangerously deep. Just painful and shocking.

**X x X**

Hank watched as Jan loped past the tent, then something seemed to catch his eye and he whirled round, almost tipping Nick off sideways.

"WHOA!"

Wu caught his arm and steered him upright before he fell. Jan padded slowly into the tent, and while there was no screaming because most folks knew Jan in his human form, people sure backed away behind tables and chairs pretty quick. His movements were slow and disbelieving, and Hank finally clocked what Jan was staring at as he turned the corner of the tent himself.

Jerrold gaped then dropped his voice to a low murmur. "Koninglowen… kitten?"

Hank nodded.

"They woge _that_ young?"

"I'm guessing from Jan's face…. Not usually _that_ young."

A tiny cub, paw on banana, sat on the grass between Roddy's feet, mewling miserably. Jan gazed back at Hank, and if any lion's face could say '_what the f—!?'_ Jan's did. Roddy scrambled backwards a little, breathing hard as Jan regarded him calmly.

"Ah! _THERE'S_ Daddy! W-we've been looking after her, really. Yeah. I-I mean we had a little falling out when she hit me with the banana but we've b-been doing everything to cheer her up since, and… she won't shift back."

Nick rested his hand lightly on Jan's mane and spoke quietly. "A little earlier than expected, huh?"

Jan nodded his giant head, dazed, and bent over his daughter, reaching way, way down to nuzzle her gently. She raised a swatting paw, the full length of her foreleg reaching halfway up the broad panel of his nose. He nudged her affectionately and she went rolling across the ground, making him scrabble after her to stop her before she got dizzy. Carrie-cub was about… the size of Jan's paw. Something inside Hank went all mushy at the size difference. Jan rubbed his cub with his face, comforting her, and very, very slowly she shifted into her more usual form, a pink baby lying on her back and still rubbing her father's nose fearlessly.

Hank's eyes watered a little and he brushed the wet off hastily with the back of his hand. Oh man. Now he was going to have to lie down in the vicious blades of a field-harvester while eating nails (without milk) to regain his masculinity. He bent over to pick the little girl and her toy up, looking around for a blanket or something till they could find Carrie's changing bag. Sean handed him a spare jacket and he tucked her into his forearm. She cooed up at him, wide-eyed and accepting. Hank grinned wetly.

"Wogeing all big already, huh? Welcome to the Scooby gang, baby girl."

If Theo found anything alarming about the rest of his family turning into lions, he hid it really, _really_ well.

"Hey Nick! Hey dad!" Theo announced cheerfully, holding up his Lego Kanebo. "Lookie what we made! We're Grimms, now."

"Rrrr?"

Nick grinned broadly. "Those are pretty COOL. Can you make me one for my weapons stash?"

"RArrrr!" Jan protested and Jerrold burst out laughing.

"I think that's cross-species dad-speak for 'don't encourage him!'"

Hank's cell buzzed and he wasn't hugely surprised to get a stress-o-gram from Monroe. He wondered how the guy texted with those big old claws while in woge, but he did a pretty good job. "You guys better head off. They need help."

Jan whirled round and stopped briefly at the tent exit to nod his head to Renard—

"You're welcome. Yes, I'll keep them for a little longer."

—before breaking into a run, then accelerating to a sprint through the north copse, Nick's bellows of panic trailing through the air as he clung on. Hank looked back to Jerrold, hunkered down next to his own daughter, who was sitting with Rabe's head and shoulders in her lap, raking his hair out of his face with one hand and keeping pressure on his chest with the other. He was shaky and dewy with sweat, and Hank looked to Renard, who confirmed he'd called a bus in already. Now that the enemy had been called off.

Jerrold regarded the leather-jacketed youngster suspiciously. "Who... is _that_?"

"That would be Barry Rabe," Hank answered for Carly.

"He's too old for you, Carly. Not seeing him again any time soon."

She looked up at Jerrold fiercely, eyes flashing yellow and green. "He's really brave! He fought that Blutbad and protected the kids. Even when he was hurt."

Jerrold looked around for peer support, so Renard clearly decided to make life annoying for him.

"He did well. I'll be writing a commendation to his probation officer."

Hank bit back a grin watching the dad in his buddy try to reconcile 'brave', 'commendation' and '_probation_'. Jerrold sighed, folded his arms and huffed.

"You're not seeing him any time soon after ten thirty at night."

"Dad! Way harsh curfew!"

"C'mon man!" Hank laughed. "Movies don't let out till gone eleven these days!"

"Whose side are you on?"

"I'm on the side of making things easier," Hank said. And clapped his hands loudly. "Right, folks. We gonna let these Blutbaden ruin our big day out?"

Sean smiled at him from the side as there was a general chorus of NO's.

"Fine, let's get this mess cleared up and get back to where we were. Now!" He clapped and walked off to the PA desk to see if he could help Bud. Their row may have moved off the public address system, but it was still going on loud and clear behind the supplies truck. Hank sighed and prepared to play diplomat, while still holding Carrie. If things got really out of hand, he could maybe get cub-girl to smack them with her soggy felt…. thing.

**X x X**

_**TBC… genuine Nick squeamishness coming up this time (sorry for last chapter's optimistic A/N falsehood…), and the Blutbau Cometh!**_


	7. The Blutbau Cometh

**And here we are…. The Blutbad really does cometh ;) Thanks for all the lovely reviews and to those following and favouriting! **

**Points out of ten for gooeyness, please, lol.**

**X x X**

Jan managed to keep a fairly straight line and didn't do anything mean like a slalom through the trees, but Nick felt very close to tossing his cookies by the time Jan came to a halt by the Toyota. His foot slammed and jarred against Jan's side pretty much the whole way. He kept his eyes squeezed shut a few more moments while he got his shit together and overcame the nausea. After a moment of gritting his teeth and feeling perspiration dripping off his face, his ankle settled and he couldn't feel it so much. Probably because of the hot competition from his right arm, which was thrumming with tension from trying to hang on round Jan's neck while keeping the food and clothes supplies clenched in his left hand.

His pelt now slick with sweat, Jan slumped heavily behind a rhododendron shrub, dropping his head abruptly down onto the moss. The motion pulled Nick forward over Jan's shoulder like a well-executed judo throw and he landed with a thump on his back, watching the trees multiply and blur above his head. Jan nudged him apologetically.

"'M 'lright," Nick mumbled.

Jan nudged him again, more firmly, rolling him quite vigorously.

"Alright, alright!"

Nick propped himself up on his elbows and got flattened by face full of mane as Jan swung his head round, teeth bared, and tugged the food bag from under his arm. Jan ripped the bag and nommed the three steaks and the baguette in less than a minute. Then he nudged the bag containing his clothes. Nick unzipped hurriedly, pulling out jeans and tee-shirt.

Jan's transition back to human began abruptly. Ears and teeth retracted, pelt receded to tanned skin, muscle bulk rearranged from shoulders and hips to arms, chest and back, and his middle trimmed right down to something human again. The noise was AWFUL.

Nick found himself watching through a gap in his fingers in the end: Jan growled and snarled throughout, shaking violently towards the end of the reversed woge, and finally slumped on his side on the moss, varnished with sweat and swearing gutturally to himself in Dutch under a carpet of hair that reached half-way down his shoulder blades. Now that he'd seen the transformation, he understood why Jan hardly ever, ever did this. Something horrible occurred to him. What about Carrie? Had it hurt her when she shifted? Or was she more bendy and flexible with her infancy? Nick shook the thought from his head. It didn't bear thinking about.

Jan hadn't got up yet, and Nick gave the damp shoulder a light shake. "You alright?"

"I... will... be..." Jan rumbled, the king of beasts still live and well in his vocals, and pressed up onto hands and knees at least, swatting his arm out for the clothes bag. His fingers were still curled under his palm, as if his body hadn't quite remembered the concept of fingers yet. "Towel… please?"

Nick's cell rang ― Denny. Nick yanked the towel from the bottom of the bag (of course it had to be at the bottom of the bag) and passed it to Jan, who'd managed to get his left hand open enough to grab it and start drying himself off.

"Nick, the labour's speeded up. A _lot_. We need the Toyota and we need it no―"

Denny was cut off by a scream of absolutely raw pain in the background that made Nick's stomach turn over and Jan's eyes widen.

"WHERE THE HELL ARE THEY?"

"Trying to find out, love!" Denny called and came back on the line. "We only made it about six miles down the briar path ― the Beetle's out of action. Someone left tacks on the road. We've cleared them away, but―"

"Alright, we're coming, don't worry!" Nick winced as Denny was drowned out by another howl and he had to grit his teeth as he clambered up onto his knees. God it hurt… it _really_ hurt, but he was determined that absolutely nothing was going to get between Monroe, Rosalee and a decent birth for their little one after all this build-up.

"Jan DOES have the Toyota keys, right?"

Nick looked to Jan, who'd shifted priorities from dressing to key-hunting and he jangled them in his hand from his denim pockets as he thrust everything back in the bag and bent down to help him up. "Yes, he's got the keys."

Rosalee moaned again in the background and it rose to a wail. "Eddie, what's taking them so long?"

"They were kinda busy battling, honey. On their way now, they've got to the car. Breaathe ... In and out... come on..."

"I can remember how to breathe!"

"Ea-sy..." Denny called back to her, "Remember what they said about the hormonal surges? You've got to relax your upper muscles..."

"_YOU_ RELAX YOUR UPPER FUCKING MUSCLES!"

"Quick as you can please, mate," Denny muttered down the line. "The waves of abuse are coming less than a minute apart."

With Jan's help, Nick hopped like a maniac to the Toyota and hauled the side door open. Jan threw himself into the driver's seat, turned the heat in the car on to full blast and swept a shaky hand through his hair, having to tuck it behind his ear to keep it out of his face. His driving was alright for a minute, but then became unsteady. Nick frowned across at him and saw him breathing fast and blinking faster. Then saw the whites of his eyes.

"Whoa... Jan! brake! BRAKE!" He flung an arm out and pulled the wheel, moving them back to the right side of the road. Jan was alert enough to bring the car to a stop without any damage and snapped the engine off, pointing blearily down at the clothes bag.

"Drink in there," he rasped.

Nick rummaged, closed his fingers round a bottle of Pepsi and twisted the cap off. Jan threw about half of it down his throat in one go like he was in some kind of Spring Break drinking contest. Then his breathing steadied. And his colour came back. He shot Nick an apologetic look.

"I'm _so_ sorry, that took me as much by surprise as you. I would never have got straight behind the wheel if I …"

Nick believed it. "It's alright. Just let me know when you're good to go on, even if it takes a few minutes. We're no good to Monroe and Rosalee if we crash."

"Yeah." Jan wiped his hands down his face and downed the rest of the Pepsi. Then he restarted the car. "Alright, I'm good to go. Wow. I clearly underestimated the glucose payload. Maybe I'm just not as young as I was."

"Well, there's that. But you're also bigger again, now." Now that there were on the move and in no danger of tipping off the road, he realised how much of Jan's folder build he'd reclaimed. He was definitely on the slender side when he'd returned from the Netherlands, but now, daily work outs combined with the happiness of a huge pride and (probably) having Denny in his life had filled him back out to his former Thor proportions.

Nick eyed the bottle of Pepsi cheekily. "Soda rather than orange juice? I thought your body was a temple?"

"It is, Nick. But a dodgy congregation moved in."

Nick chuckled and shifted his position in his seat. The slight motion sent fire up his shin and made him gasp. God, that was_ sensitive_, but still manageable. He'd be fine so long as it didn't tap it, move it, jar it, breathe too hard or get karate-chopped by a field mouse.

"You alright, Nick?" Jan glanced over sideways, temporarily blinded as his hair blew around wildly in the gust of the heater. It hadn't retracted from shoulder length.

"Yeah. Twisted my ankle. Ah ... your mane..."

"The mane's the bane of my life," Jan muttered. "It's so annoying. I had my hair cut _yesterday_."

"So get it cut again today! When all the excitement's over."

"Slight problem. There's this one particular man ― human ― who cuts it _precisely_ the way I like it, and if I turn up looking like this, he's going to fall over."

Nick laughed. "So see someone else! God, you're vain!"

"Of course I'm vain, Nick, I'm a Koninglowen! What do you expect?"

"You've hidden it well up till now. The vanity, that is."

"Part of being vain is not wanting to get hit in the face, so I try to keep that less stellar aspect to myself as much as possible."

"Fair enough." Nick nodded gravely. "I'll go out of my way not to bruise your ego with references to Cousin Itt."

"Very considerate of you."

"Actually, you've got quite a good Tarzan look going on: the barely-there wardrobe, the long, dark tangly hair―"

"Hmph."

"― you're just missing a Jane. Or in your case, a James."

"Have you been on some sort of juvenile humour refresher course?"

Nick grinned out of the window. While he wasn't planning to spend much time thinking about the mechanics of male love, he was looking forward to Jan and Denny finally getting through their 'we are friends' stage (yeah, right!) and just fricking come out so that everyone could stop treading on eggshells. A little light mockery helped him vent a little steam. They drove quietly for a moment, and Nick noticed Jan's hands still shaking on the wheel. It occurred to him that Jan must still be in shock over Carianne's total woge.

"Are you really ok? As cute as it was to see you and Carrie both shifted, I know it's got to be worrying."

Jan swallowed. "Just a little. I have no idea what we're going to do, Nick. She's visible to humans that way. Christ, can you imagine the school reports? 'While Carrie is largely sweetnatured, she has a tendency to chew the basketballs if a game doesn't go her way.' God. I'm going to have to find staff for a primary school, at this rate."

"Sounds like an idea, actually."

"Hank and Wu saw her, didn't they? How'd they take it?"

Nick smiled. "I think Hank wanted to wrap her up and take her home. Wu took it in his stride, like everything else." He still felt pretty bad about the intensity of the guy's first foray in the Grimm-wesen universe. "I'll 'debrief' him later, as Renard would say."

"Still not calling him Sean?"

"He's my Captain. It would feel weird. And… the trust is getting there, but I'm not quite ready for the buddy leap."

"That's fair enough. Oh! There they are…."

The Beetle came into view and Jan pulled over as closely as he could. Denny and Monroe approached at a run, carrying Rosalee between them, and slotting her as gently as possible into the seat behind Jan, with one of the huge bears as a cushion. Jan slid his drivers' seat forward as far as he could.

"She's going to have to lie down in the back seat, over your legs," Denny explained. "She needs to stay on her side, just for the minute."

Nick opened his door and tried to step down on one foot, obeying the implicit instruction to get in the back with Monroe and Rosie. Kind of made sense. He was a lot more compact than Denny.

Rosalee looked Jan up and down, then put a sympathetic hand on his shoulder. "Sucky woge?"

"Indeed."

She pulled something off her wrist and handed it to him. "Spare hairband."

"You're an angel, Rosie Calvert."

Denny bowed slightly before Jan as he pulled his mane into a low ponytail to tidy himself up a little. "Good afternoon, Lord Greystoke. Will Sir be wearing his morning suit, or his loin cloth?"

Jan rolled his eyes, pinkened, and actively cringed as a college bus thundered past, loaded with loudly expressive female passengers. "LET'S GO!"

Denny and Nick snickered as Jan shot back into the safety of the driver seat, then Nick realised that he was holding onto Den pretty hard to ease himself into the back, and Den was gritting his teeth in turn while taking his weight. Monroe was already in the middle seat, helping Rosalee to lie back with big bear as a pillow on the far left. Denny eyed his ankle in concern. "You alright, Cheetah?"

"Cheetah? As in the… chimp?"

"Small. Untidy. Cheeky. Seems to fit. Well, are you alright?"

Nick felt Monroe and Rosalee's gaze without even looking over and he nodded in what he hoped was a reasonably chilled way. To Denny, he mouthed _It can keep. Like your ribs._

Denny grunted assent and climbed back into the front. Nick was just wondering how he'd get his own back for 'Cheetah' when he caught Rosalee's eye. In a brief moment between contractions, she was doing a really poor job of concealing a smirk. He let it go. A moment of light relief in the labour was good. He had the feeling that there weren't many of those left.

**: : : : :**

Monroe felt compressed. By emotion, by hormones, by sheer lack of personal space.

Rosalee's grip on his hand was sending his knuckles into imminent-fractures territory, even while he held the stronger bone structure of part-woge form. On his right, Nick was leaning as close to the window as possible, trying to create space between them on the back seat even though there really wasn't any because Monroe had to stick one foot either side of the annoying unit on the floor between the seats. Denny and Jan mumbled amongst themselves up front as Denny connected Jan's cell to the car's bluetooth system. It occurred to Monroe, now that they'd actually been picked up, that he had no idea where they were going. Or could go. They couldn't take the risk of hospital in case Bruno was born woged, and the shop was just too far away, now...

He cleared his throat and sucked his Blutbad back in long enough to sound normal for a moment or so.

"Uh guys... has anyone given any thought to destination? 'Cause we're seriously not going to make it as far as the Pearl and even my place might be a stretch." He felt Rosalee's grip tighten further and she started puffing again, trying to bring her knees up towards her chest, despite the bump.

She screwed her face up and tipped her head back. "Oh no.. no no no..."

"No 'no-nos'! Please! They completely stress me out!"

"They stress YOU out?" she growled, her fuschbau showing, and as he flinched, she put her hand to his face. "Sorry. Again. I just can't help... gnnnnn…" She went into another vulpine scream, even scaring a driver on the side of the road into a swerve. Monroe's pulse went through the roof and he was lucky not to put a hole in his lip as he fanged out.

Denny turned in his seat and took her hand. "Right love, I'm really sorry, we were hoping to have you on the gas and air by now, and the labour's clearly escalating. You would normally have an epidural, by now. It might have to be a hospital birth to reduce the stress."

"No!" Monroe and Rosalee called out together, and as she crammed her face into his chest, Monroe wrapped an arm round her shoulders. "If anything, that would hugely _increase _the stress. We can't risk it. All the people we've spoken to... they've talked about their little mixed ones being born in a state of woge."

"So what? Humans can't see that anyway."

"He means full woge," Jan interjected quietly. "Their little one is gemischt, like ours… and Carianne had her first full shift today."

Monroe saw Denny's eyes slightly widen at 'ours' and a tiny smile spread, but the guy shook himself back to business.

"Y'mean pickle turned into a..." he fumbled his hands into a vague palm-cupping suggestion of 'very small thing' and grinned broadly. "She went all... kitten-cub on you?"

"She did," Nick confirmed. "And Hank and Wu saw."

"Awwww!"

"No, not 'awwww', Den, but 'aghhhh!'"

Monroe couldn't agree more. Birth had to be the most stressful event in a person's entire lifetime and the chances of their little one emerging human... God, no. Not likely to happen. Rosalee was fragile. She had pain to deal with - he had to take charge here. "Denny, really, we appreciate the consideration for her pain levels, but no hospital. We'd agreed on that already."

"Bollocks. Alright..." He turned in his seat and reached back for Rosalee's hand. "I'm really, _really_ sorry love but we're going to have to do a reccy while we're on the move. Make sure everything's ok."

Rosalee seemed to understand this mysterious term and buried her face in her hands. Monroe pulled her against him a little harder, feeling incredibly nervous.

"A reccy?"

"Yeah." Denny reddened and cleared his throat. "An undercarriage reconnaisance, if you like."

To Monroe's annoyance, Nick decided to hide in his shirt.

"Y'know.. checking the status of the gangway?"

Monroe put his hands out and waited for a translation to arrive, by bike, train or plane. He had an idea of what Denny meant but the bubble of denial was just too thick for the words to penetrate.

"Oh for the love of god, Eddie, we need to check the place where the baby comes out and see how far dilated she is!" Denny squeezed Rosalee's hand again. "Sorry 'bout the bluntness, sweetheart."

His denial bubble ruthlessly popped, Monroe gave himself a mental slap and steeled himself. Jan looked decidedly at the road, Denny out of the window, and Nick was still hiding. They were about as private as they were going to get. He bent slightly sideways, Rosalee's skirt in his hand, but her hips were right on top of his lap and he couldn't see a thing. He tried leaning over to the right, but that particular space was already occupied by Nick. Nick gallantly tried turning himself into a pancake against the window (making some pretty unnecessary choking sounds in the process) but he was a lot broader than he used to be and only a few seconds of crushing his buddy told Monroe that this angle simply wasn't going to happen.

Crap. He had to ask Nick the unaskable. But Rosie's pain levels were at stake, here. Not to mention the health of their newborn. He tapped Nick's shoulder. Nick emerged white-faced.

"All done?"

"Not even started. You need to do the deed." He loaded his eyes with silent appeal. _Don't make me explain that any further._

"The deed?" Nick sprung a sweat.

"Uh... yeah. I can't see anything from right on top. You need to take a peek and tell us the scores on the doors."

"Ah..."

"Gents! I'm going to run out of road long before you run out of euphemisms!"

"Monroe, shouldn't we consult Rosie about this? Because you're asking me to―"

"GET THE HELL ON WITH IT!" Rosalee encouraged, and Nick bent forward hurriedly, grabbed a couple of handfuls of skirt and lifted them, his face all screwed up.

"Dude! Look with your eyes open! You'd be surprised how much more you'll see."

"WhatamIlookingfor?"

"Size and shape of entrance, mate."

Nick cracked a reluctant eye open as he bent under, his face tinting to a shade of mild wintergreen under the cheekbones.

"Whoo... ok... I can see ... fur… and hair. Sorry Rosie."

"Mummy hair or baby hair?" Denny demanded mercilessly.

Nick looked wretched. "Kind of hard to tell!"

"Nick! Focus! Round exit? Lemon exit? How much of a gap are you seeing? Be clinical about this, if it helps!"

".. ah... lemon-exit and... eight centimetres, maybe?"

Monroe noted the sideways glance between the synchronised brothers in the front seats, and even as Denny was yelling at Jan to step on it, the Toyota lurched forward and Jan's hand motions directed Denny to the glovebox. Denny found the old flashlight and stuck it on the roof, Jan reaching down to flip on the siren on the dash. Monroe didn't know whether to be reassured by this extreme urgency or not, and then he heard Jan talking to someone into the speaker of the carphone, advertising their arrival in T-minus-4 minutes. Apologetically and politely, of course.

Monroe thanked Nick with the world's fastest, most awkward shoulder pat, which Nick accepted with the rapid nod of the suddenly-traumatised. Then Rosalee's hand scrunched at his shirt, pulling it into a ball in her fist. He looked down, hating seeing her like this. It was all he could do to stop going to full woge himself.

"Not much longer, honey. They've got a plan..."

"Make it a quick one?" she begged, her eyes wide in a red-furred face. "I can't hold off any longer... I just can't..."

**: : : : :**

She could, as it happened, because Jan's plan B was so locally based.

Jan brought the jeep to a halt in a side-road round the corner from a small, rural bunch of shops on a single street and leapt out, pulling her nearside door open carefully. Between them, Jan and Monroe got her out and into a double-carry, Monny scuttling madly as he wondered which way the under-dressed giant was going to march in.

"Pharmacy on the left," Jan declared, and Rosalee found herself glaring at him as they hurtled towards the door at speed. The sign on the shop awning read 'Z Doyle'. Jan explained. "The owner's Maushertz and owes me a favour."

"You're just a great big under-dressed godfather really, aren't you?" Denny observed, stomping past with Nick on his back, and she did wonder why that that was strictly necessary. And why they were taking in turns to mutter 'ow' until Denny put Nick down on the shop floor. Slowly.

"You go to another health-place? Apart from _my_ store?"

"Yes, Rosie, I do. If I cut myself shaving, I don't need ground testicle of mountain goat spread on it, I just need a plaster."

She rolled her eyes darkly but knew a hormonal bout when she felt one and kept her irritability to herself. "I'm sorry. This will stop soon, I swear…"

Jan bundled her gently into Monroe's arms to be carried in and hurried ahead to speak to the alarmed man sprinting out from behind the counter. He was in his mid-sixties and looked Jan up and down in a state of shock, his mouth hanging open. Jan clamped his hands down on the small shoulders in a fairly compassionate way.

"Mr Doyle, you must have many, many questions."

"Uh…. Yeah."

"Please don't ask any of them."

"Uh… right."

Jan sighed. "Long story short, we have a cannonball birth on our hands and we're rather short on safe birthing premises, hence our abrupt arrival."

"I-I'd love to help, but my assistant is human!" The little man wrung his hands anxiously, and Rosalee got the impression that he'd be happy to return Jan's favour… more on his own terms. "Jan, L-look… both the Fuschbau lady and Blutbad… gentleman… are fully visible, and if Freya returns right now, it'll be a gross breach of the Ehrencodex―"

Her annoyance and inner vixen re-emerged. "SCREW THE EHRENCODEX BACKWARDS INTO A TIGHT PARKING SPOT!"

"Huh?"

Monroe shot the guy the friendliest grin he could in Blutbad form, which nonetheless sent him shooting back ten feet. "My wife's the local conduit into the wesen council, by the way, so, if you have a complaint, you need to find a different route."

Rosalee warmed and froze in the same second. "Your _wife_?"

Monroe looked down at her. "I said _wife_, didn't I?"

She nodded frenetically.

"And I meant it… look, this is not how I wanted to ask, or meant to ask, and frankly, I'd envisaged some spare rings hanging around for that particular moment…. but I can't un-ask right now because I have no intention of it. Rosalee, will you actually be my wife? At the end of all this?"

Total shock and overwhelming happiness set in within the same two-second instalment and she found herself leaking over, even as the tension resumed below. She grabbed Monroe's hand. "I will. Be your wife, that is. At the end of all this."

Another contraction set in and the pain ripped out of her without her desire or permission as every muscle between her lower rib-cage and her knees went into total revolt for a full twenty-seconds plus and then finally released. She felt tears on her face when the moment passed, and as she panted her way down through recovery, was enormously relieved to see both Monroe and Denny lowering her to the floor. Poor Eddie was woged with fear: Mr Doyle was wide-eyed.

"You're the father, I take it? You're having a… gemischtwesen?"

"Gemischt or not, they're having a baby in the next five minutes," Denny barked. "Get the gas-and-air, there's a good man."

"Gas-and-air?"

"Nitrous oxide! Got Nitrous oxide? Please say yes, or at least pethidine, or something?"

"No, no…I have the nitrous…" The elderly man sprinted to a back room and returned with a canister, and Rosalee had never known such relief in her life as when Denny assembled canister, mouth-piece and tube and pulled the back of her head up gently to urge the tube towards her mouth. She grabbed the mouthpiece gratefully.

"Take a nice big suck, love. Like you're trying to piss off people in the cinema by slurping the last of your drink through a straw."

She did so, and the first hit was fantastic. Her brain felt itchy and cold, but the rest of her wanted to succumb to a fit of the giggles, which was way better than the screaming agony state she'd been enduring for the last half hour.

"Rosie…you alright? Eddie, sit behind, please, try an upright tilt of about 45 degrees if you can manage it. The angle should help…"

Rosalee sucked again and felt careless. Why care about anything? She grinned nakedly to herself. She was going to marry Monny….

"Zach, I'm baaack!" Freya called fraily, as she barged through a rear door in the shop, and Rosalee got a mental image of a clerk in her early sixties (with a high-top bun) even before she appeared. The lady looked down, first, spying Nick close to the front door, and scuttled over, scooping handfuls of bandages from the shelves and dropping them at his feet. "Oh goodness, you poor young man. What did you do?"

Rosalee agreed and looked up at Monroe, trying to whisper discreetly. "What _did_ he do? Nick's gone green!"

"Uh…I think he twisted his ankle. But if he can keep her distracted with that, then…hey, good. Because I can't hold my woge in much longer and as gorgeous as you are, you're pretty fricking obvious…."

"Zach? How could you not spot a young man with a dead foot collapsing on your premises? I swear, for such an intelligent fella, your eyeballs need to hang out in the remedial class… … and Oh my! Where did _you_ come from?"

Rosalee bit her lip as Jan hung off the front door frame on his way out to get some clothes from the jeep.

"He's worse!" Nick accused, pointing specifically at Jan. "He brought me in, but he's really sick. Fevered, delusional, thinks he's Tarzan….. Just take his temp… he's a walking advert for pyrexia."

Rosalee saw Jan's poisonous glare at Nick over Freya's shoulder and decided that she'd love him for a lifetime for distracting her by dropping backwards like a pole, complaining about some 'terrible internal heat, caught in the wild.' While he passed off his standard, healthy 40° Koninglowen bodytemp as nasty fever, Freya dragging him outside by his armpits, Nick shuffled on his backside down the store aisles, chucking everything immediate and baby-related that he could find into a basket so they were equipped for the vital delivery moment.

The image of Freya slapping Jan repeatedly round the face outside to 'bring him round' made her giggle until Denny pitched low and grabbed her knees. "Honey, your anaesthesia is about to wear off. Baby is crowning. Monroe ― are you behind?"

"Yeah!" came the slightly desperate croak.

"Good lad. So… push up, Monroe, on the small of the back and _keep pushing_. Nick – are you alright to steady the knees while I grab the pup?"

Nick popped up out of nowhere and gently held her knees apart while looking firmly at the ceiling.

The final contraction came in and Rosalee didn't know where to put herself, even with the nitrous help. It was like needing to push a cannonball through a hole designed for tennis balls, and the pain-relief was doing NOTHING.

"GOOD GIRL!" Denny yelled. "Baby's coming…. Can see most of the head. Now what you need to do is―"

"DON'T YOU FUCKING DARE TELL ME TO BREATHE!" she warned him, her entire nerve system in a total mess, but to his credit, he didn't.

"No, you've done that bit. Now you need to _pant_. Fast breaths, like _one-two-three-four_…. Fast, small muscular movements, push little man out into the open, bit by bit… c'mon love…"

Rosalee obeyed, feeling Monroe's hands round hers, squeezing hard, and it was so much like the time that she had this mass chest infection when she was young…. Cough after cough, making her head throb, to the point where at one stage she was genuinely afraid to cough in case she popped something in her head. Right now, she kept puffing and kept heaving, really believing that her entire bodily structure below was going to collapse in a gory mess if she pushed with the same force one more time….

But then, miraculously, after an impossible billowing of pain, the tension lessened. She took a deep breath and wailed, Monroe's hands around hers. Then felt another strain below, then a second hiatus…. She looked over and saw Denny grinning.

"ONE MORE! JUST ONE MORE PUSH! YOU'RE UP TO THE HIPS! GOOD GIRL!"

So she bore down one final time and for a long moment, she saw nothing except a really dark ceiling… and then she heard crying. Tiny, muted, infant shocked crying. The sound made _her_ cry. The relief… baby out, ok. He was crying. Any moment now, he'd be handed over… she slumped into Monroe's arms, half laughing, half-weeping, and looked up to see his tears splashing down into her face.

**X x X**

Nick realised he still had his hands propped on Rosalee's knees and removed them at the first sounds of infant life, slumping his palms limply on his own thighs for a moment while Denny had a quick chat with the new-born. Baby Blutbau was wailing with serious energy, his tiny, hairy arms flailing either side of Denny's thumb and pinkie. From the shade of his downy hair, he was more Bau than Blut right now.

"…Yeah I know, son, it's awful!"

The crying kicked up a notch as the arms flailed more strongly.

"One minute you're all cosy, next minute you're being squished, then it's all chilly… not to worry. Uncle Nick's got the blankie... let me just snip that pesky cord… and clip… good lad."

He snatched up the blanket and spread it out totally in his hands, putting his palms in the middle so that the tiny guy would be covered from every angle. And by god… tiny guy was _tiny_. He'd thought Carianne was small, but this little fella….

Nick folded Bruno/Anton into the blanket, biting his lip. He didn't want to pass the little bundle on, almost. A tiny leg escaped the corner of his wrapping, and the entire foot was shorter than his thumb. Nick chuckled wetly as the cheeky little toes formed a fan, the big toe creating a tree-frog-like gap from the rest of them, and gently folded the escapee limb back into the blanket, passing the little guy onto Monroe.

Anton/Bruno held his father in complete thrall. For several, long moments, all Monroe could do was stare down at this tiny little being that was his son, wondering what the hell he was supposed to do next, and in that time, Nick and Denny had managed to drag themselves if not _behind_ the new parents, then at least alongside, and they all watched as the tiny dude got to grips with life. Jan limped in through the front door, supported by the ancient Freya, who was still chiding him for wanting to get up…. But on spotting the nativity going on by the cash register, she was keen to join in, dragging Jan along with her.

Nick looked deep into the bundle, where a very human little face lay. Recovering from the shock of birth, the down had faded away. He was a teeny olive-skinned tot with a thick tuft of dark red hair. They all peered over to inspect him more closely, but the little man was doing what all babies did for the first few hours of life… curling and uncurling his fingers with his palms outwards, trying to figure out whether the little fingers belonged to him or not. He was still squinting a lot, his eyes deep, warm and brown.

Jan bent down to stroke the tiny cheek. "He's got his mother's eyes."

Anton/Bruno waggled his arms up and down, then randomly face-palmed.

"He's got his daddy's hands," Nick grinned, making Denny crack up laughing from behind, then Monroe passed bundle onto mom.

Rosalee inspected him in amazement for a long moment, then whipped down her bra-strap. Anton/Bruno knew exactly what to do and she gasped as he latched on, giggling a little. The Blutbau fed, a hand like a little starfish escaping the blanket and resting casually on her chest, ready to apply pressure when insufficient milk arrived.

Nick met Monroe's eye and beamed. "He plans ahead. Like his pop."

"We'll see, Nick. We'll see…"

**X x X**

**Hope you enjoyed!**

**Coming soon… the aftermath… both of the birth and the festival! People remember that Nick **_**has **_**just been in a huge fight… Betty registers firm disapproval at dastardly behaviour… and Monroe's emotions finally overflow.**


	8. Aftermath (Part 1)

**Thanks all so much for the continued wonderful reviews, favourites and follows! I hope you like this chapter… sorry for the 2-week wait. I was having pacing issues as usual, lol. Anyhoo… on we march… into the world with a Blutbau in it ;)**

**Helena (guest): you're quite right about me evading the usual manner of checking dilation in the last stages (I know it's only visually viable when baby is actually crowning) but I thought it'd go a bit far for Nick to be **_**that**_** handsy… lol. I thought I'd cut a corner and keep things Grimm rather grim. Tee hee. Hope that's ok.**

**X x X**

As Hank approached the slanging match by the PA desk, he started to get a pretty good idea of why Bud's MIL might be Grimm-proof. Betty Kennedy had something pretty significant in common with Nadine's mom… and Felicity's mom. She was _always_ right. Sure, she probably had a conscience live and kicking deep inside somewhere, but it was well protected by a thick wall of self-righteousness that neatly rebounded any home truths flung at her. His vague plan had been to go over and give Bud some moral support but now, he wasn't entirely sure what he could achieve with that. He was relieved when his cell phone rang and he had to back away from the group a little to answer. It was Jan.

Hank switched the call to speaker as Renard fell awkwardly into step alongside him, Matty hitching a ride on his foot.

He smirked as the Captain bent down to tug away the determined little arms clinging round his knee. "Jan! Got some news for me? Make me happy!"

"Healthy little boy born seven minutes ago, all fingers and toes in place, mother's eyes, no agreed name yet," Jan chuckled. "Parents and child doing well, though Monroe looks like he's barely survived a tornado."

Hank repeated the news loud enough to temporarily halt and unite the Wurstner-Kennedies with a short burst of applause that even Renard joined. He was too curious not to ask. "Was the little guy born woged?"

"Yes. To quote Den, 'a bit fluffy.'."

Hank could just picture it. "You didn't get to see the big moment itself?"

"I'm on distraction duty," Jan said dryly. "I'm just grabbing a moment while the pharmacist's human assistant rummages for preemie supplies. Look, can you tell Wu and Renard that tacks were left on the road? We cleared off the ones we came across but tell the coach driver to keep a careful eye out when things wrap up there. I doubt they were thrown there just to upset some expectant parents."

"I'll send a scouting car ahead of the bus later when people are heading off," Renard offered, vainly trying to peel Matty off his leg.

"Sean, hi. Are the kids alright?"

"They're energetic," Renard reported. "How's Nick?"

"Holding up." Jan cleared his throat. "We need to talk about what happened today. That wasn't just a bunch of kids trying their luck. They were directed to the Winterfest."

"ITA," Hank muttered. He stared over at Renard seriously, waiting for him to step up. He did.

"We need a summit meeting ― one week's time. Gives me a chance to follow up some intel first so I don't worry people unduly. Find a big location, if you can. _Not_ the Lodge."

"Will do," Jan said. "I know you've had a lot on your hands, but… any luck with the recruitment?"

"Yes, actually. Four more adults for the constabulary and quite a few teens for your cadet group."

Hank had to bite his lip as Renard smirked into the alarmed silence at the other end of the line.

"Cadet group!? There isn't a cadet group!"

"I'm sure you can squeeze it in. You're very resourceful."

"Screw 'resourceful'! Sean, they're children! What the _hell_ are you thinking?"

Hank heard sniffling, looked down at Carianne and saw her doing 'the lip', as Nick called it. Her chin juddered. Hank hastily handed his cell to Sean and backed away with Carianne, giving her an emergency cuddle as the sound of her father's voice thundering wrathfully through the air made her whimper. Sean switched out of loudspeaker mode and spoke smoothly into the handset.

"…I'm sorry you think I'm being facetious, but they're not just children. They're young adults desperate to make a difference." Renard beamed. "No, alright. That's fair. You're busy. I'll tell them to write to you to make a case to use their combined talents…"

Hank stared at his Captain in disbelief. Wow. That was cold. Threatening Jan with angsty, do-gooding teenagers. He had his money on Renard being drugged and volunteered as an orphanage Easter Bunny not too far in the future. Carianne had calmed down a little, at least, and as Renard hung up and handed the cell back, he looked extremely pleased with himself.

"Don't know why you're grinning, Sir. You _know_ he's going to make you pay."

"I look forward to it. Let battle commence."

Hank cleared his throat. "You saw Rabe. He got badly torn up. Jan's got a point about them being kids."

"He's also got a point about believing in what they're capable of. I'm just gently reminding Jan of his own principles." Sean looked down, sighed, and tapped Matty on the head with his finger. "_Please_ get off my foot."

Matty did, briefly inspected with great pride the perfect muddy footprint left on the black leather, then ran over to his mom, climbing up into Janie's arms. Janie looked so grateful for the distraction: holding Matty gave her a concrete reason to actually hold back the tears that were threatening, and walk a few feet away from the fight. Betty's yelling was getting a little… harsh.

Sean cleared his throat and tapped Hank on the arm. "I'm just heading back to the beer tent."

"Coward."

"It's not me that's cowardly, it's my ears. They love peace. See you later."

Hank rolled his eyes as his Captain sloped off to escape the drama and nearly rolled them again, involuntarily, this time, as Carianne cracked him politely in the jaw to get his attention.

"Hey! I am not Denny! I have nerve endings!"

She glared in the direction of the yelling. Ok, that probably sounded a little scary to her. Hank sighed and gave her a squeeze. "You want me to leave you with someone else for a minute?"

A vigorous banana wave fending off all comers suggested not.

"Alright baby girl, but no more hitting and don't go stuffing that thing up my nose if it gets too noisy." Hank strode over to Bud and stood alongside him as his colour heightened dangerously.

"You've g-g-g-_got_ to stop acting like she's settled for me, Betty. I-it's been totally two-way respect and love between Janie and I since I b-b-bit through the condom on our first date."

Janie reddened, glared and cleared her throat as a startled silence descended.

"B-but I guess you g-guys didn't really need to know that."

Hank felt that now was the time to support. "Hey, don't sweat it. It's no worse than any of the other stuff we really didn't need to know."

"I'd just like to know why all my annoying little quirks are suddenly such an issue after twenty-plus years!"

"Suddenly?" Bud spluttered, "It just shows how much you listen! Fine! Since you've mentioned it, there _is_ some stuff I've been waiting twenty years to say…"

As Bud went into another venting fit, Hank heard a thump round the back of the supply truck and felt his chest rise in his throat. He was off-duty and didn't have his piece with him. He looked around wildly, but there was no-one close enough to pass over Carianne so he could go look. Then, confirming his state of paranoia, a Blutbad kid slunk round the corner of the truck, his face torn between an attempt at menace and deep confusion as to what time the 'party' was supposed to have started. Cause pretty much all his buddies had been taken down, stacked, and taken away.

Of the three Eisbibers, Janie saw the kid first, took a sharp breath and tensed. "Bud?"

Bud had his back turned and was on a roll with the yelling.

Betty did _not_ have her back turned. She straightened, pulled her purse further up her forearm, and gave the kid a withering look. "You're too late!"

Bud flung his hands up. "See? You're always so _critical!"_

Only momentarily stunned by Betty's welcome, the Blutbad kid snapped out of his startled stare so fast that none of them could react in time as he pounced on Janie and hauled her away. Hank roared for Wu as Bud woke up and lunged at the kid, laying blows at his head. He got a few smacks in before he got knocked sideways with a throat punch. Janie released Matty and urged him to run while screaming, stamping on the kid's feet and pummelling her elbows backwards to no avail. Matty was slamming at the kid's shins with his lego kanebo, for crying out loud. Hank was just considering putting Carianne on the ground under a table when Betty went psycho.

"GET YOUR HANDS OFF MY DAUGHTER, YOU SON OF A BITCH!"

Hank had no idea a septuagenarian could move so fast. Betty snatched a knitting needle from her purse, charged, then plunged it into the soft part of the kid's backside, through the Nine-inch-nails patch, denims and all. The kid arched his back and screamed, finally releasing Janie.

As Betty swooped down and scooped up Matty, retreating with him, the little guy pointed delightedly at the knitting needle in the butt and clapped.

"Again!"

The encouragement made the kid snap a furious glare sideways. He snarled, snatched the weapon out of his rear and flung it on the floor. Just as he was advancing on Betty, who'd moved Matty behind her for protection, the late Blutbad kid was comprehensively flattened from behind, disappearing face down into the spongy mud like a Wile Coyote under a 10-tonne weight. The Blutbad's total collapse was so sudden that it took Hank a second to recognise the assailant as Stefan. He remained fully human, but growled his Koninglowen into the kid's ear. The kid stayed exactly where he was as Wu pulled him up and shoved his wrists into a zip-tie.

"Thanks, buddy." Wu blinked as he peered at the weapon on the ground. "Wow. She seriously went arts-and-crafts on his butt."

Hank watched as Wu supervised the kid's removal from the forest personally, then damn near lurched off his feet to find Stefan standing right up alongside him, stroking Carianne's head.

"Hell, man! You're as bad as your brother! Ever considered clearing your throat or something, on approach?"

"May I hold my niece? That's what I actually came for here, today. To meet her."

Hank held Carianne out to Stefan, wondering whether or not to warn him of the banana hazard. On balance, he figured not. Stefan was a marine. He could handle a soggy banana. Stefan reached his hands out for the little one and for a moment or two, Carianne was in a state of total confusion. He could understand why: Stefan looked exactly as Jan might have done …. Ten years ago. That threw him, too, when he first saw the guy. He'd had just a brief glimpse of a smaller Jan in deadly soldier mode, helping him to escape a cluster of strung-out Klaustreich trying to break his arms, and then he'd taken off to bust his brother out of the nightclub siege. Carianne didn't know her uncle was a 'goodie'. She glared at the imposter and brandished her weapon at him, but Stefan just grinned and subdued it with his palm, chuckling.

Hank put his hands on his hips, intrigued. "So… you on shore leave, or what?"

"Early retirement. Word is that I have PTSD."

Interesting. Stefan struck him as the kind of guy that _caused_ PTSD. "So that's just the word, right?"

Stefan grinned, but dropped his voice. "You don't miss much, Hank. Alright. Something told me that I needed to stick close by – for good. I can't explain it. The opportunity to get out of the forces came and I took it up. And I need to warn Jan about our sister's latest career move.

"The lovely Francine?"

"Lovely as ever. She's Verrat, only without the tattoo. And she's on the board of GQR."

Hank blinked. "Remind me why that means anything?"

"It's a huge Dutch logistics firm based in Rotterdam. On the surface. They happen to have a large division dealing with the reclaim of valuable artefacts, which is based in in Vienna. And guess who's doing their legal work?"

Hank's stomach dropped hard. Artefacts. Key-hunting. Shit, this already. And his very ex-girlfriend, too. What a mess. "The lovely Adalind Schade?"

"The very same." He gave a slightly sad smile and a shrug, doing a really good job of not conveying any kind of stress to Carianne, who'd now accepted him as kin and was expressing her love by trying to pull his hair out. "I'll let the joy-dust of Monroe's little arrival settle before I introduce complications. Ok?"

"Sounds like a plan." Then something occurred to Hank. "Do me one favour? I know you don't want to ruin the mood, but you need to tell Renard what you just told me. Kinda like NOW."

"What's your Captain got to do with anything?"

He went out on a limb but spoke very, very quietly. "He's wesen and he gathers intel."

"I hear you. I'll speak to him." Stefan nodded and went off to find Renard.

In the background, he heard Betty yell at Bud about his failure to protect Janie. It seemed that the butt-stabbing incident hadn't built bridges after all, even if it had formed a proper bond between her and Matty. Hank sighed inwardly and prepared to just go the hell over there and tell the old woman a few things he'd have liked to have said to his own MILS.

But Livvy beat him to it. She hobbled up to Betty and looked at her inquisitively. "Ok, I know who you are now. You're the Old Queen."

Hank drew a little closer, wondering exactly how mysterious Livvy was going to get. He'd known a long time, but … while he knew the ins and outs of a Grimm's operations pretty well by now, he had yet to see an Andersen at work. He was kind of looking forward to it.

**X x X**

Monroe spent the next ten minutes... or so he guesstimated... in a staring fog. He had a fiancée. He had a baby. Still a bi-named baby. Two miracles of life arriving within minutes of each other and he didn't know where to direct his emotions. His brain felt kind of itchy, his eyes hot. And he couldn't stop the trembling running up and down his legs, or the ache in his face from grinning so much. Too much all going on at once inside, so he was profoundly relieved that things were slowing down on the outside.

Freya had gone downstairs to rummage for 'supplies', closely followed by Doyle the Pharmacist, who seemed intent on making sure she didn't root out anything expensive. In her absence, Jan shot out to the Toyota, wrestled himself into his clothes, then stayed out to make a private call. It was an annoying one, apparently, involving a brief shout and a lot of pacing before Jan hung up, put his dishevelled hair back into its band and strode back in again, muttering darkly to himself.

Monroe looked down Rosalee, who was sandwiched between him and Nick on the floor and leaning against the back wall of the shop, in the only little smooth-walled resting hollow they could find: beneath shelves, rather than against them. Bruno was quiet, eyes closed, lacing and unlacing his dimpled fingers, his nails tinted the slight mauve of the newly born. Monroe kissed the top of Rosalee's head, feeling misty and beyond proud of what she'd managed to do.

"Rosalee Calvert," he murmured, "you have got to be the bravest woman I've EVER met."

"I dunno," she chuckled wearily. "There was lots of screaming. And rudeness."

"Rudeness? Flaming full-out abuse is what it was!" Denny cut in.

"I'm sorry, hon."

Denny winked. "Nah, you're alright."

In a peaceful moment, Monroe felt it was time to re-start baby-name negotiations, principally by sneaking in his name of choice. "So, what's the plan now? Do we take you and Bruno to hospital, or...?"

"Bruno?" She looked up at him, busting him immediately in his subliminal schemes. "That's a 'no' to the hospital. They'll just ask if I need stitches ― I don't ― and they'll check Anton over, which Denny can do―"

"Ish!"

"For today at least, then they'll send me home, anyway."

"Ok. Let's just head back to mine when you've got your legs back, alright?"

She nodded wearily, so he tried tack number two: dependence on her tiredness: "How about Bruno Anton Nicholas Calvert? Your surname as a compromise?"

Rosalee stroked his face tenderly. "Unless I was imagining it, you proposed a short while ago. Which would make your forename-surname compromise null and void, wouldn't it?"

"Busted again! I can't get a fricking thing past you!" Then what she'd said struck him and he grinned helplessly. "You'd take my name?"

"I'm traditional in _some_ ways. The Calvert world domination plan just needs re-branding, that's all." She beamed for a moment, and then there was a bang from under the blanket that made them all jump.

"Ah. First poo," Denny deduced.

Monroe stared. "We've only just cleaned him, like… five minutes ago!"

"You'll discover that this is a pattern of life, mate. My personal record between a tomato stain, a clean shirt, and another tomato stain is forty-five seconds. I'll get the stuff laid out… oh! done already. Cheers, Jan."

Monroe took his son from Rosalee and went over to the counter with him, where all the stuff was laid out. Bruno had clearly decided he did not like the butt-mess. His face scrunched up, his arms vibrated like the wings of a wrathful hummingbird, and then the toothless mouth stretched into a howl. The little guy's lungs couldn't be much bigger than half-apricots, so HOW he was making that much noise... he just couldn't figure. Monroe laid him down on the changing mat, the sound of helpless crying ratcheting his stress levels up notch by notch after all the tension of waiting. But he was happy. He shouldn't be tense. This was a joyous sound, the sound of health…..

Monroe took a deep breath: this was probably just the panic he'd been panicking about while they were still waiting. He'd sworn to himself that he'd be able to handle everything once the wait was over, and now Bruno _was_ live, very real, and making an absurdly strong racket. It was ok, though… he just needed to take a few deep breaths….

He unpeeled the blanket. Then tried a different name-claiming tactic with Rosalee ― outright begging and bribery.

"Please, please, please with 'Bruno'? It's my Pa's middle name, it'll make it easier for him to accept our union, and …. Other benefits! Like…. I will never moan about your parking of the Beetle again, I will stop trying to make you like lima beans and I _promise_ to give up taxidermy. I will even evacuate the lemur."

She sighed and looked at him for a long quiet moment. Then rolled her eyes. "Alright. So, he'll be Anton Bruno Nicholas Monroe _formally_, but we'll call him Bruno day-to-day."

He could do that. Daily-Bruno worked for him, especially when his Pa finally came to visit. Monroe grinned hugely and set about cleaning his son, his hands shaking more vigorously than ever. He lifted the pudgy legs in his palms and inspected the excrement damage with awe. It wasn't plentiful, thank god, but it was black and incredibly sticky, and Bruno writhed with insane strength every second he spent cleaning him up.

Crap, his eyes were really burning. He stopped to wipe his forehead on his sleeve and felt a little lightheaded.

He could feel his pulse thumping and he was close to hyperventilating. But he felt so, so happy. Why was this happening to him when he was happy? He caught Nick's eye and his friend was frowning.

Keeping his foot off the floor, Nick prised himself upright using the wall and the shelves and hopped over to the counter by the corner. Monroe felt a light hand on his shoulder and he met Nick's concerned gaze.

"Monroe? You ok?"

"What's up?" Rosalee called urgently from the floor.

"I'm ok!" It came out as a kind of squeak. He was starting to hear and see through a fog. "Emotions catching up with me… perhaps more than a little. Let's all stay calm and normal. Can we weigh Bruno?"

Doyle pulled a pair of scales off the offer shelf and handed them over. "Six ninety-nine."

Monroe spluttered. "You're kidding me, right? How tight are you, man? Does the Queen attend the opening of your wallet, or what?"

Jan gently moved Doyle to one side, pushed round behind the counter, minding Nick's feet, and after a moment of clanking, returned with a broad digital scale plate and a clean towel. Monroe put the towel on the plate and switched it on before lowering Bruno onto it. The reading said four-pounds-six.

"Bloody hell, that's just… _weeny_!" Denny spluttered. "I thought Carianne was small…"

Monroe's pulse gathered pace. "But he's ok, right? Just small? Cause... Bavarians.. we start like that and catch up..."

"He looks fine," Jan rumbled. "Perfectly healthy. He's fully developed ― just… somewhat miniature. Monroe, you need to sit down. Or get some air. Before you come over all strange in front of _everyone._"

"I'm glad _someone_ cares about the Ehrencodex," Doyle muttered.

"Mr Doyle, you are rapidly falling off my Christmas card list. Will you please develop a sense of occasion?"

Monroe shot Jan a crooked smile, grateful for the intervention. He tried shaking the weird feeling away. "I'll get some air in a minute. I'll go for a jog or something. I think I'm a little over-excited, that's all. I just don't want to miss this… 'first' moment. First diaper, you know? It's important."

He focussed on doing the diaper, remembering his early Carianne practices. Ok, so the sticky tape went sticky-side up... he slid the non-patterned part of the diaper under Bruno, then pulled the patterned part up between the little legs, and over Bruno's front, smoothing it down round the sides. He then pulled the sticky tabs over the top of the patterned front and found himself folding the sides so far over Bruno on the left and right that his diaper was almost doubling round to his back again. The top edge of the diaper came up to Bruno's armpits and there were bags of space around his thighs. His son looked up at him, hugely confused, and Monroe scratched the back of his head.

"Uh... did I go horribly wrong somewhere?"

Nick dipped his face down onto his forearm and giggled helplessly.

"Dude, not building my confidence, here…."

"You're fine," Nick spluttered. "He just needs a much, much, much smaller size."

"Found some preemie gear!" Freya trilled, as she emerged from the basement, and she trotted out with an armful of stuff, passing over the pack of Special Care diapers.

Monroe redid the job, making a better fist of things this time. He now looked like a baby wearing a diaper.

Then he felt the sudden need to rip his shirt off. And run away. His eyes glowed hot inside.

Nick looked nervously between him and Freya, glaring significantly. "Monroe... hot flush? Need help getting outside? Like… now?! Denny! Jan!"

"OFF.. ALL… OFF.." Monroe ripped at his sleeves. Crap, there was no stopping this now. The emotions were running too high. The shirt came off, then the shoes. He felt the fur bursting through his skin and his feet elongate. He kicked off the shoes hurriedly.

Jan and Denny grabbed his arms and hauled him bodily out the door of the pharmacy, tucking him round the corner. There was a long moment of enquiring looks between the two giants while he tried to get the Alpha woge under control, but he was too far into the transformation. They loosened their grip and stood back respectfully. His snout came out, then the teeth, and the roar burst from his very centre as he dropped down on all fours and pelted across the road and into the woods.

He had to do the pack run. Run off all the energy, the tension, and the panic… and then he might be of some use to his son and his mate.

**: : : : :**

"Oh dear."

"Understatement!" Denny jerked his head in the direction of the shop and they saw Freya at the counter, her arms still full of tiny wares, staring. "I think… I'll leave explanations down to you."

Jan gaped. "What are you going to do?"

"Run away. Figuratively speaking."

"Thanks _so _much."

"You're a bit of a smoother customer when it comes to these things!"

"When it comes to explaining people exploding with fur and taking off into the woods, wolf-shaped, still wearing cords? Denny… I've had no more practice with that kind of conversation than you have!"

"Still!" Denny pulled the shop door open and scuttled over to Rosalee, sitting down next to her and staying out of general sight.

Jan approached Freya cautiously. She was still staring at the path Monroe had taken into the woods. But he realised after a moment that she wasn't actually in shock. She wasn't aghast, horrified or totally disbelieving. More… surprised. Doyle was the one in a state of catatonia.

"Well… that's something you don't see everyday," she said eventually.

Jan smiled. "Are you wesen?"

"Yes, dear." She leant past him to give Rosalee a sympathetic look. "Bavarian Alphas are such emotional creatures, but … the transition's usually a little slower than that. Is your man a bottler?"

"Totally," Rosalee agreed. "He will sit on something major for an age until it's the 'right moment' to bring things up."

"I suppose he's been trying to hide his paternal stress," Freya mused. "Poor dear. Is he going to be ok?"

Rosalee smiled nervously. "He'll be fine so long as he remembers where he keeps his lock-out key. And so long as he keeps his pants on. I kind of knew this might happen."

"You're wesen?" Doyle broke out of his catatonia and came out from behind the till, bumping Nick as he went. Nick clung onto the corner of the counter, gritted his teeth and grunted.

Her simple admission dawned on Jan, too. She may be very good at hiding her own woge, but it couldn't have taken her long to work out…. He looked down at her sternly and folded his arms. "Freya. At what point did you work out that I was Koninglowen?"

"As soon as I got you outside, dear. The goosebumps slightly undermined your shaking-with-fever performance, as appealing as it was. Oh, and mane hair is a totally different texture. You had glossy ends. The rest of it is a little coarse."

Jan sighed heavily and glared at both Denny and Nick, who were writhing with silent, unsympathetic giggles. "Well. I'm glad all that was in a good cause."

She reached up and patted his face. "It was a very nice gesture, honey. But never try to fool a Hexenbiest."

Zach stepped back from her rapidly, wide-eyed and gaping, and his over-balance had exactly the same effect on Nick as Zach stamped his foot. Jan heard the quiet snap and looked over sharply, Denny following his gaze. Nick froze, juddering with shock, his mouth moving rapidly and soundlessly for a long moment before a quiet, vibrato cry of pain wobbled out of him, then cut off abruptly.

Jan lunged over to grab Nick as he tipped sideways off the counter. He just caught his head and shoulders and turned him gently, easing him to the floor with handling instructions from Denny, who was trying to keep his legs in a reasonably straight line. Jan squeezed Nick's shoulder lightly. Nick's eyelids flickered but that was about it.

"We're not getting him back for a few minutes, mate. Just try to keep him still and comfy while I check the damage."

Jan looked around for something soft and saw a smock fleece folded into a transparent plastic pack on a nearby 'offers' shelf. He pulled it out, ignoring the spluttering pharmacist, and slipped it under Nick's head. Freya looked down at Nick curiously, he noticed, like he reminded her of someone. But then she seemed to collect herself and turned to get something, only to bang into her boss. He didn't move. Just kept staring. She hobbled round the gawping man, disappeared into a back room, then came back with a cool cloth. Doyle was standing in the way again and she banged into the doorframe trying to edge round him. She huffed irritably.

"Zach, for a pharmacist, you're really bad for people's health."

"You're a Hexenbiest?" he finally managed, oblivious to his role in Nick's total white-out and staring at Freya with a combination of awe and repulsion that made Jan want to drown the guy in his own cough syrup.

"A Hexenbiest!" Zach spluttered again, as Freya ignored him. "Why didn't you tell me?"

"Because you're a narrow-minded schmuck, dear," she said sunnily, and started cleaning Nick's face off.

"I-I'm not sure if I want a Hexenbiest working for me."

"Alrighty, I'll just get another job and sue."

"On what grounds?"

"Age discrimination, chicken."

"Age discrimination?"

"How else do you plan to explain your sudden decision? I'm 64. I'm also ready for a fight, honey. If you try firing me, I'll make sure that not only do you spend _thousands_ in legal bills, but also that your toilets reverse-flush for the rest of time, and that you're assaulted every other day by seagulls until you're 85."

"You can't do that!"

"I wouldn't test her, if I were you," Jan muttered.

Freya shot him an appreciative smile. "You keep the new mom company. I've got this one." She pointed down at Nick and shooed him. Jan shrugged and went to sit next to Rosalee. She sank against him gratefully, her eyes drooping a little. He put his arm round the back of her shoulders.

"You sure you're alright?"

"Yeah. So tired. And so… so happy."

Bruno was still firmly attached, but seemed to have fallen asleep on the job. Rosalee stroked the little cheek and his mouth twitched sideways in an involuntary drunken grin that made them both chuckle.

"Let me know when you're good to move and I'll drive you home. We'll get you settled into your own bed with all the props."

"I can't wait. Thanks _so _much." She yelped then laughed as Bruno suddenly came back to life, sucking like a parched piglet and trying to bang more milk out of her with a weak, uncoordinated fist. "Hey, I'm new to this too, but I don't think it works like that!"

A sharp cry startled them both and Jan saw Nick snap his head off the smock cushion as Denny slid his shoe off.

"Sorry mate, I won't need to do that again." Den cut the sock off with the mini-scissor attachment on his pen-knife, tilted the foot around with millimetric movements and frowned. "I'd usually leave the shoe on for stability, but I think we all heard that crack. Can't have it swelling up while it's trapped."

Jan ventured to his back pocket for his cell phone. "Ambulance?"

"Without question. Report minimum two breaks: lower anterior shin and metatarsal." Denny leant over and patted Nick's forearm sympathetically. "Mr Doyle, if you want to redeem yourself, I could do with some sticky tape and a heavy-duty magazine if you've got one lying around."

Doyle pulled a face. "A magazine?"

"A periodical. Boring Pills Monthly. Whatever you've got."

"We have _plenty_ of those," Freya chuckled, and leant on Denny's outstretched hand gratefully as she got to her feet.

Jan made a call direct to despatch, who gave an ETA of fifteen minutes for the ambulance. He started gathering Rosalee's stuff together, grabbed the packaging for the smock fleece and shoved it back in the basket to run through the till. Doyle rang up the total and took his card grouchily before returning to the attack with Freya as she returned with the tome and the tape.

"Did you know I was a Maushertz when you interviewed for this role?"

She sighed. "Honey, you were so twitchy that we were nearly drowning in spilt coffee. Of course I knew. And of course I wasn't going to tell you about my breed."

"You've lied to me for six years!"

"It's a sad fact, but if you're a Hexenbiest, honesty gets you nowhere."

"You're witch-descended and you work in a pharmacy. Why doesn't anyone get why I _might_ have a problem with this?"

Jan rolled his eyes. "Zach, What are you? A man or a mouse?"

Denny looked over and met Jan's eye with a rising grin, then outright chuckle, even as he finished off the improvised protective tube he'd made for Nick's ankle and foot. He'd folded the periodical upwards into a U and kept the shape with the sticky tape.

"Always thought you were a little too pushy for an assistant anyway," Zach muttered, and Freya froze, clearly genuinely hurt.

Snapping out of it, she busied herself helping Rosalee to stand. Rosie made a point of handing her Bruno to hold while Jan got her up. It was a like a voucher of trust. Freya's eyes were a little wet while she gave the tiny, precious bundle a cuddle, but she managed a smile. Jan didn't. He wondered if there was a sluice somewhere out back that he could shove Zach's head down. He was about to investigate but Den beat him to it, getting quickly to his feet and towering over the whining pharmacist.

Denny gritted his teeth, clenched his fists and woged, his build hardening under the tee-shirt, his face sharpening around the edges, and his voice gaining the power to drown out six road sweepers and a few localised bombs. "SHUT THE FUCK UP!"

Zach obeyed through the simple means of fainting. Still in Siegbarste form, Denny rolled his eyes, stuffed the man into the recovery position and shifted back to human, massaging his temples gingerly. Jan checked to see that Rosalee was in good hands – she was – and approached Den cautiously, putting his hands on his shoulders.

"You alright?"

"Yeah." Den blinked a few times, but managed a reasonably convincing smile. "I sort of made that happen deliberately, so… no stress. Maybe then, less pain."

Nick coughed, and Jan, Denny, Rosalee and Freya surrounded him, peering over as a group with hands on knees, except for Rosalee, of course, who held Bruno upright and close.

"Beware the swallows that dive," Nick muttered, his eyes still closed.

"That's an eight," Rosalee said suddenly. "For wake-up weirdness. Actually, it's a six, but he gets bonus points for the random prophecy."

"Not really a prophecy though, is it?" Den chuckled. "It's just vague. All swallows dive. It's what they do. The lad needs to narrow it down a bit."

They waited, agog, to see if he Nick would add any further wisdom, but that was all for now, it seemed. Denny straightened with a grunt and Jan sighed, unable to ignore his discomfort any longer. "Let me have a look at that."

"Hnnf."

"That wasn't a cooperative sound, Den. Come on."

Denny tugged his arm out of his tee-shirt so he could rest the fabric on his shoulder rather than hold it out of the way at an awkward angle. The motion made him catch his breath and Jan hissed as he inspected the score mark along his side, made more tender by some spectacular bruising. "That's _very_ raw. Have you used any antiseptic yet?"

Denny mumbled at the floor.

"Denny!"

"Been busy! For god's sake, it's not like I've been bopping about icing cupcakes, is it?"

"Nonetheless!"

"Here we are, dear," Freya announced, flipping open the first aid box and laying it on the counter.

"'s gonna sting, innit?"

"Not as much as bison horns," Jan pointed out.

"Well that's not saying much, is it? It's like saying 'Oh at least you haven't stepped on a boxfish,' to someone who's just stepped on a sea rake."

"Oh, you big girl!" Rosalee accused, and Den glared over, pink and indignant as she raised an appraising brow at him.

"Look, my pain threshold's a bit… mixed, like the rest of me. I can take a lot, but I'm not good at surface-ouch, alright?"

She raised the other brow at him.

"I've not got a sympathetic audience over there, hav— AGH! JAN! GIT!"

It was good that Den was so easily distracted: he'd zipped behind, got an arm across his chest and pinned him still while pressing the wipe against the deep scrape in his side. Denny leapt up and down on the balls of his feet in protest and made incoherent, enraged noises at him, but he wasn't about to let Den go anywhere. He stopped trying to escape after a moment but continued to breathe fast, muttering under his breath as Jan eased the pressure off and wiped the area clean.

Jan squeezed his arm. "You alright?"

"Hmph. Merciless bugger."

Jan grinned, and switched the wipe for a gauze. "Sorry. Arms up."

"What now? You going to hang me from the ceiling by my wrists while you find iodine?"

"Don't be _DAFT_." Jan swallowed hard. Great. Now he'd be plagued with hours of assorted mental imagines, none of them involving iodine. Red-faced, he swapped the wipe out for a gauze and whipped a broad bandage round Den several times to hold it in place before taping it off. Then he helped Denny get his arm back in his sleeve.

"They'll steal your picnic," Nick offered from the floor.

"No, that's seagulls, dear," Freya soothed. "Swallows don't steal picnics."

Nick's eyes opened and he wiped his hands down his face, groaning slightly. Then looked around in confusion. "Why'm I..?" Then apparently remembered what they'd been doing before a chunk of his life vanished from his memory, because he sat urgently, looking up at Rosalee. "You ok? Baby's here, isn't he? He's ... he's ... yeah. You're holding him. Oh….That's good."

"They're both fine." Jan dipped down and helped Nick back to the floor again as he swayed, clearly still very light-headed. "An Ambulance is coming. Denny will go with you―"

"Will I?"

"Yes Den, you will. Your head's still a mess. I'll drop Freya wherever she'd like to go, take Rosalee home, then go and see if I can find Monroe. If he hasn't already shown up, that is."

"Alright." Nick closed his eyes again and Jan cleaned off the mouthpiece of the gas and air with a wipe, handing the painkiller over. Nick took a couple of sucks and grinned lazily. "How's Bruno?"

Rosalee smiled down at him and handed her tiny boy to Denny. "I need the bathroom. You guys can introduce yourselves to him properly."

As she followed Freya out back, Jan leant back and grinned as Denny rested Bruno in palms cupped behind and beneath like a chair, supporting the little head with forefinger and thumb.

"Shall we try saying hello again, fella? You were a bit sticky last time. Yeah! Sticky! And shouty. Not your fault, happens to the best of us, but not really the best moment for a chat, was it?"

Bruno blinked a lot and tested out his fingers some more as Denny took him on an Uncles tour.

"I'm Denny. You can call me that, or Den, or big fella. _That_ is Jan, or even-bigger-fella... and _this_… look down, mate… is Nick..."

Nick pulled his gas supply away and waved vaguely.

"Nick's a bit less flexible. 'Nicky' is right out. Don't call him that, or he'll donk you. Your choices of name are Nick, Uncle Nick, or 'Nick the Grimm'—"

"—OH MY GOD!" Freya yelled, making them jump, and they turned to see her in the doorway of the room behind the counter, clapping her hands over her mouth.

Jan sighed. "He's not that kind of Grimm."

"Oh it's not that! Kinda worked that out by myself." She walked round the counter and looked down at Nick with a growing smile. "I know where I _thought_ I'd seen you before, only it wasn't you... Are you Reed Burkhardt's boy?"

Nick's eyes widened and he tried to sit again, pushing himself up slowly. This time, Jan helped him.

"How did you know my dad?"

**X x X**

_**TBC! In which we are assured that there are no mysterious brothers or sisters lying around, a truce is finally called, and a wolf returns from the woods….**_


	9. Aftermath (part 2)

**Hi all**

**first off, thanks for the fabby reviews, follows and favourites that came out of chapter 8! Here's 9! It's long, lol. Three or four fairly long conversations here!**

**To prevent a 3-week wait between the last chapter and this one, I finished it on holiday in half-hour stints on my ipad using wordpad programme with an undereducated spell and grammar check, and then I had to use copy and paste on the doc manager to upload. And we all know how joyous the copy-and-paste facility is to use... ;) So... if there are any remaining formatting errors or tiny typos, I really really don't wanna hear about them, lol. I did my best!**

**Anyway... I hope you continue to enjoy! Glowing reviews are always welcome (she asks in shameless hope with fingers and legs crossed...)**

**X x X**

Nick was given a few moments to lie down quietly after having his leg manipulated and used the time to hyperventilate silently while Doc Spencer squinted at the light box in the corner of the room to check out the repeat x-ray. He was glad of the morphine to take the edge off things. And even more grateful that Denny had taken Freya away for 'coffee' just beforehand, so no one needed to see him roar the badly-fixed hairpiece off the orthopaedic surgeon.

"Yeah…" Spencer concluded in a satisfied drawl, standing creakily. "That's looking _way_ better. Perfectly in line. And just for the record, it's just the one break, not two. What that foot-stamping fool managed to do was pull the shin break sections apart and they reunited unevenly – like an orthodontic bite out of line."

"Right," Nick managed hoarsely. He didn't particularly want to relive that moment.

"But given the colour of your foot, I'd have made the same two-break call your buddy did. Anyway, you get to escape surgery, which is good. How you holding up over there?"

"Could do with a drink," Nick muttered. The doc went over to pour a little water into one of those paper cones. Nick knocked it back. "Thanks. So… work?"

"I'll sign you out for a couple of days while you get used to the crutches and pain-med combination. The pills can make you a little ditzy and I don't want you back here with poor coordination injuries. Once you've figured out your tolerance to the pills, you can head right back to the office so long as your partner does all the driving and energetic cop stuff. Come back and review in four weeks. Good luck."

As Doc Spencer went, Nick groaned inwardly. Both him and Livvy on crutches? God. Things were going to get so competitive. And how the hell was he supposed to look after her now? He'd need to figure something out. And keep a low Grimm profile a little while. He couldn't see himself holding off a reaper with a crutch, somehow. Denny stepped back into the room with Freya in tow, and they were snickering over some private joke. Denny pulled up a chair for Freya.

"You going under the knife, or are they releasing you back into the wild?"

"The wild," Nick muttered. That was actually a pretty good description of his apartment right now, between his fear of vacuuming and Livvy's dread of dirty dishes.

"Good. No horrid anaesthetic. You're free to get this down you, then."

Nick almost snatched at the bottle of icy mineral water Denny passed him, taking nearly half the fizzy bottle down in one go. He grunted gratefully.

"You're welcome, burpy Grimm. I'll leave you two to natter while I fetch the Spyder―"

"That's only got room for two," Nick interjected.

Freya patted his hand. "It's fine, honey. Esme's picking me up. But thank you for thinking of me."

"I'll be back in about an hour or so, I reckon." Denny made it halfway down the corridor, then just as Nick was wondering where to start questions with Freya, Den jogged back, pausing at the door with a sheepish grin. "Um... just remembered... I'll need a cab to get home to _get_ the Spyder and I'm a bit skint..."

Freya rolled her eyes. "Typical Siegbarstes. Always penniless."

"Oi! I've got two decent fund-making projects on the go, I'll have you know." Denny caught Nick's wallet, took out a twenty and threw it back again. "Cheers, mate. I owe you."

Nick caught the wallet and pocketed it with a little difficulty. His leg was still pinioned in the orange puffy brace. "How are the misfortune cookies selling, by the way?"

"Very nicely. I've found a cookie manufacturer who wants 'a new edge', and Wu's tracked down two Chinese restaurateurs with a sense of humour. I've sold six-month supplies of cookie doom to both, which has paid off a credit card bill, at least. Anyway. Laters!"

"Misfortune cookies?"

Nick met Freya's eyes, chuckling. "Yeah. '_On your once-in-a-lifetime flight to Australia, you will sit next to a hypochondriac_.' That kind of thing."

"Ok… so that's unconventional income. I guess he's trying not to live in his guy's pockets, huh?"

"They're not actually―"

"Not yet? Hah! Give it a very little more time." Freya's eyes twinkled and she sipped at her tea.

Where to start with the questions? She looked at him expectantly, but Nick just couldn't prioritise the confusion in his head. The emotion she'd shown on seeing him… She knew his father pretty well, it looked like. Did he have siblings he didn't know about… maybe? He couldn't start with that. That was rude and personal, as important as it was. Ok, so maybe they were a pair before his Dad met his mom… but what if the 'how did you meet' story involved a one-night stand? Still not safe territory…

She put her hand on her arm with a quiet sigh and threw him a bone. "Reed used to bring you into the barber's with him when he came for a trim. And when you got big enough, I did your hair, too. You've still got the same big old eyes but it's nice to see the rest of you catch up."

"I knew you?" Nick felt faintly embarrassed.

"Oh, don't worry about not placing me, honey. You were little and it was a LONG time ago. And I just owned a barber-hairdresser joint, you know? I wasn't a central part of your life."

Nick was hoping for a more meaningful connection and tried not to sound or look too disappointed. "So... you got chatting with him a little while you cut his hair?"

"It started that way. Well, at least the chatting started that way."

He stared. The _CHATTING_ started that way?

"No, I did not have an affair with him or anything ridiculous like that! Your father was temptation on legs, for sure, but he was married, and so was I. I have rules about that kind of stuff!"

She was so indignant that he could only offer her an apologetic shrug. "Freya, my father died when I was twelve. I don't remember much because he was never really around… later on."

"Really? When you were tiny, he never put you down. He didn't use buggies or carrying straps or any of those convenient things. You were like arm-furniture until you could walk."

"It didn't stay that way." Nick's throat felt thick all of a sudden. "I've got a letter from him, and that's about it, so… I don't know whether he'd have fallen in love with his hairdresser or not."

"It's sweet of you to assume that love would've been involved. But no, the only time we ever came close to any kind of romantic 'accident' was when he was coming into his maturity phase and the screw-me vibes he gave off forced me to lock myself in the stock room to keep myself from… well." She leant forward confidentially. "He got some help from a well-informed Fuschbau apothecary, but…. Reed had a few… 'attractiveness' problems, shall we say. Even before he starting flinging out the pheromones."

"The pheromone thing was one of the few things I was warned about."

"You too? Aww. It won't last forever, don't worry. And I'm sure you've caused a few all-girl car crashes all by yourself. But… I'm _so_ sorry he passed on. Especially so young." Her eyes searched his. "Your mom brought you up?"

He didn't really want to go into the whole double-death thing, particularly as it turned out to be a single-death thing, so he simplified things. "I was raised by my aunt on my mom's side."

"Ah. Marie." She sipped her tea. "I'm so sorry for your loss."

"You met Marie?"

"No. But he spoke of her in… varied terms."

Nick chuckled, remembering his aunt's sardonic nickname for his father: 'the teaspoon'. "What did he call Marie? I know he wasn't exactly her beloved brother in law."

"It depended on his mood, and how long since he'd last seen her. While she was staying with them, phrases such as 'the nightmare', 'marauding Marie', and 'Bloody Mary' got dropped into conversation more than a few times."

"How did you meet him?" Nick imagined a brief shock moment of Grimm and Wesen eyes meeting in a barbershop mirror, or through the window.

"Oh honey... meeting day is quite firmly branded in my mind. It was 18th July 1979 and 33° in the shade. I was 30 and feeling my age, given my husband Dean's string of early-20 girlfriends. But... I had outstanding Farrah Fawcett hair and a pretty angelic figure too, even if I say so myself, so I wasn't one for moping. Anyways, I was carrying three laundry bags of gear from my pick-up to the shop, and they were heavy. I was staggering."

Nick smiled slightly. "Ever heard of making a return trip?"

"Hell, I'm just lazy. So, as I'm hauling these bags of supplies across the sidewalk, Reed sauntered past in shades, tiny shorts, and sandals. Then he seemed to realise that I was struggling. He whirled round, smiling, turned back and said something I didn't catch because I was too busy gawping, then his shades slipped off his face." Freya went red. "He snatched them out of the air, grinning bashfully, showing laser reflexes and a _really_ big smile. Then I crashed into the lamp-post and damn near knocked myself out."

"You got... um...'Grimmed'?"

Freya rolled her eyes. "No, you silly boy. I'm trying to confess that I got distracted by more loveliness than my coordination could handle at the time. Apart from being big, and very, very nicely in shape, your father was indefensibly handsome."

Nick opened his wallet. He still had his father's photo in there: the one that came with the letter he'd found on Aunt Marie's boat at pilot lake. He was sat on his father's knees while his Pa had an animated conversation with someone out of shot. He showed the photo to Freya.

"Oh my. Yes. That's the Reed I remember."

"Okay... and then you found out he was a Grimm?"

"No, he helped me into the shop, brought all my stuff inside, cleaned me up, put a plaster on my head, and made me made me a cup of tea. In my own shop. The whole time, I was blushing and blazing fit to cook egg and grits on my face and couldn't string two sensible words together. NOT my golden hour. But... a few weeks later he dropped by to actually get his hair cut. We got chatting a little and he said that he and his wife had just moved to Rhinebeck and – so long as I didn't give him a Mohican or something – he might actually become a regular. He left with awesome hair, that day."

Nick grinned. "I bet. Did he talk to you a lot?"

"I flatter myself that I was a good listener. And some people treat their hairdressers like their priests, you know? He was sweet, but he had a kind of stressful life. Especially when your mom got pregnant. And even more so after you were born, when the whole Grimm issue first came up."

Nick digested this, curious about the 15-month gap between her meeting his Dad and him being born. "You knew him _that_ long before finding out he was a Grimm?"

She sighed. "You're a little obsessed with the Grimm thing, huh? Look, Reed was so much more than a Grimm ― at least more than what I understood a traditional Grimm to be. He was really unusual in that he was able to… I don't know how else to put this... he could 'turn the Grimm off'. I never felt uncomfortable around him. I only woged once in his presence anyway in that whole time ― after I'd found that Dean was gambling ― and then knocked over a whole stack of combs I'd just spent an hour sterilising. Boy did I show a nasty amount of bone and gumline that time! He didn't react. He only told me when he was tired one day that he already knew, but 'didn't want to bring up the Hexenbiest thing while I was having a bad time'."

"Whoa." God, that was new on him. His father could choose not to see? Or at least… choose not to reflect? He needed to learn how to do that. "Why did he get so much more stressed out after I was born? Sleep deprivation?"

Freya chuckled. "Uh, no. Your father could sleep for the Eastern Seaboard. And you were NO better, young man. You did coma-by-the-clock. The moment nap-time came round, it was like cuddling a pile of warm cookie dough."

Nick blushed. Some things didn't change, then. He just hoped he didn't sleep with his mouth open. At least Juliette had never complained about that. Only about him turning into 'Diagonal Man' in the middle of the night and hogging the whole bed. He forced his mind off Juliette and back to the point. "What can you tell me about the stress?"

Freya looked a little uncomfortable. "You have to realise that a lot of this stuff was confided in me, ok?"

"I have no one else to ask." Nick didn't feel this was a lie. His mom was pretty patchy on the past and he couldn't imagine that changing any time soon. History of the Grimms and the Royals, she'd do. Because it was a learning point. Her personal, emotional history? His father's? He imagined that remaining a locked box. Freya fidgeted and he put his hand on hers. "Please?"

"It was only after you were born that we graduated from hairdresser-client to actual friends, meeting in between haircuts for coffee. And it was actually on one of these coffee breaks that I found out that he was a Grimm. The joint got raided by two Skalengek who quickly found themselves voluntarily face-down on the lino and under arrest... largely thanks to some nifty fistwork from your Pa. And some impressive shouting. I was shocked, of course, but I knew what he was really like by then, so the 'Grimm' thing didn't faze me."

Nick couldn't imagine a great deal fazing Freya. He folded his arms and she went on.

"You asked about the stress. There's only so much chat you can cover in an hour every other week, but there were two major issues for Reed. First, your mom wouldn't take Grimm 'maternity leave', so to speak. He had to break a lot of his own parenthood rules to follow her around and keep her safe and got angry and resentful about the amount of time this took him away from you. Not to mention how much time it took HER away from you."

"Yeah. That kind of… fits."

"And also, he felt like you were being observed and treated like an extra-rare species. You're the child of two Grimms. Apparently almost unheard of, which always struck me as weird, because if it's one person that can understand the complications of being a Grimm, it's another Grimm. Anyways, the whole family – and some interested outsiders – scrutinised your every move from birth till you were about three to see what kind of Grimm you'd become. A Burkhardt Grimm? Or a Kessler Grimm?"

That seemed nuts. "How could they possibly tell?"

"Exactly Reed's point. You were a baby. He found the whole business ridiculous and invasive, getting mad at his own Pa too, by the way, and eventually he told both Marie and Kelly that if they kept up their zoo-observations act, the only kind of Grimm you would become was one raised in Australia in peace and quiet."

Nick stared. "He threatened to leave Mom?"

Freya looked at him seriously. "You know, he was so in love with her, I don't think he'd ever have gone through with it. But he had to show his cards. It was only the prospect of losing both of you overnight that finally sent her into partial 'retirement.'"

"What does that mean, exactly?"

"Limiting herself to protective killing only. If she thought that her family was under threat." Freya finished her tea and put her cup on the stand by his plastering couch. "But she didn't have much choice anyway because her sister became sick a long time, her priorities shifted, and then... Reed never really understood why, but she kind of hit the self-destruct button a little."

Nick sat up a little more. "What happened?"

She sighed. "I can only tell you as far as when I had to leave Rhinebeck, alright?"

That was five years more than he would be able to fill in otherwise. Nick braced himself. "Alright. Thanks."

**X x X**

Monroe felt himself slowing. At least, the wind was no longer ripping through his hair at the same rate and his legs began to tire. He gradually brought himself to a halt, his world clarifying around the warped edges of his vision. He could no longer track his direction on smell alone: the sharpness of pine was blending too much with the sickly sweet tang of hemlock, and then he smelt nothing. He felt himself going off-course. It seemed a good time to stop and get his bear-

His hindlegs caught on something in the brush and he pitched forward onto his face and chest, snarling as this simple, alien clumsiness coated him with mud from the belly up. But he wasn't clumsy. As least not as a wolf...

He pressed down on his paws and grunted in discomfort as fur retracted from forelegs, which widened and thickened to forearms. They shook beneath the weight of his upper body and his whole frame went into acute ache-spasm from his neck to the arches of his feet, the sensation interrupted only by inner snapping as the ligaments and bone took on a human formation. Eventually he could see the ground beneath him and breathed slowly for a few moments, waiting for the pain to pass. He felt insanely thirsty.

And, from the pointy grit under his kneecaps and wind between his legs, he felt more than a little... oh crap.

Naked.

Monroe ripped a handful of burdock out of the ground and held it over his very privates while skittering his gaze around for somewhere comparably non-prickly to hide. A few yards down there was a shrub with no visible holly, nettle fringe or thorns and he hunkered down in there while he got his head together. Oh man. Nightmare. His sinuses felt like they'd been rammed with cotton wool by a disapproving nurse treating/punishing a bar-fight injury. He could barely smell a thing. Severe woge did that to him: some keeled over with acute anaemia or hypoglycaemia, others damaged their senses temporarily. He was in the latter group. Having his nose out of action was unpleasant, but it least it meant he couldn't feel the cold so badly.

Had he really shed EVERYTHING before loping off into the woods? He was pretty damn sure he'd departed with cords. And briefs under those cords... He squeezed his eyes shut, hoping totally pointlessly that it was all a bad dream, and that he'd wake up back home. But the fragments of pine cone drilling tiny holes under the balls of his feet kept him real. But, ok... pine. So he was actually on the home strait. All he had to do was discreetly follow the valley of pines over to the edge, towards the sun, and find a way of scuttling across the road without a bunch of neighbours blocking his path with pitchforks. He heard wild buzzing and opened his eyes gingerly. A half dozen, scattered blowflies hovered in front of him with no care for personal space, and he looked down while swatting them... to find his front coated not with mud, but blood.

"Oh my God... ohmi... hell! CRAPCRAPCRAP!"

"OVER HERE, SIR! FOUND ANOTHER GODDAMN WOLF-FREAK!"

Monroe silenced himself immediately and tried ducking his head down but there was absolutely no sense in hiding because that 'SIR' had a definite military/civilian protection ring to it, and he was totally unsurprised to find two cops flanking him from about four metres away. With a decimated deer lying between their feet. Which was presumably where he got the blood. Oh God...

He whined inwardly and lifted hesitant fingers to his face to make sure there was nothing incriminating, red and tacky coating his beard-

"HANDS ALL THE WAY UP! BOTH OF THEM!"

- Monroe dabbed his face twice, hastily, and checked his fingertips as he shot his hands into the air, trusting in the shrub to protect his modesty while he checked for blood on his hands. His fingers had come away clean. So he'd total woged, but he wasn't responsible for that deer. Thank GOD. He tried to find his voice.

"Uh... can I just say something reassuring?"

"WHAT?"

The shouting cop was young, Monroe noted. His gun shook. Nick was probably that age too, once. The other cop was more seasoned, but was clearly on cold-stare duty. He tried to keep his voice calm and even, wondering why the frick he was doing all the calming here, when he felt scared shitless. He heard a car door slamming distantly but tried to stay focussed on the reassuring the cops.

"I am not responsible for that deer. I tripped over it. While running away. Hence my mess."

The young cop glared at him uncertainly, not lowering the gun one tiny mini half-inch. "And your current state of undress, Sir?"

"No, the deer's not responsible for that."

"KEEP THOSE HANDS UP, WISEASS! WHY ARE YOU NAKED TEN METRES FROM A SCOUT CAMP?"

"I-I... uh... I'm WHAT? No no no no no!" He waved and chopped his hands in as many variations of 'no' as he could think of. "It's not like that! I didn't even know they were there!"

Four eyebrows raised disbelievingly. Monroe felt sick.

"Seriously! I had no idea there were ANY scouts nearby. I just got here! By running! Tripped over the deer. Jesus… look, those must be the quietest scouts EVER. They're totally going to ace their silence badges, their not-thereness badges, their stalking badges―"

"Why you out here?" barked cold-stare cop.

"I became a father today."

"That explains nothin'."

"Well actually, I think it does. I got a little overwhelmed, and had to go for run, and then... then..."

"You ran naked because you became a Daddy? Up your explainin' game or you're looking at a whole bevvy of charges, mister," cold stare cop went on.

Monroe wanted Rosalee. And a shower. And then Rosalee again, and then wanted to collapse into his armchair and hold Bruno. Ideally without handcuffs on. What if he got put away? His heart lurched in his chest. What if Rosalee had to spend years holding up that tiny, supersoft palm against his on the other side of prison visit glass? And where the hell were Nick, Jan or Renard when he needed them? Where was Wu?

"Yer silence ain't helping you none, Sir," shouty cop offered, less shoutily. "We've arrested scarier, freakier people today than you so I suggest you cooperate. Now."

Monroe's arms were ready to fall out of their sockets from all the in-the-airness when he heard a much calmer voice breaking through the quiet of the glade, talking to a squeak. Someone arguing with a cell-phone, then. The voice was calm, but a little exasperated.

"...I have been policing Portland man and boy for 35 years. I'm well aware that it's 'weird'. Thanks for the reminder... "

The man broke into sight with a blanket over his forearm and strolled over to the two cops, who instantly snapped to attention.

"Alright, well we seem to have rounded another one up, so I'll get back to you if I... No, I don't feel the need to call Renard. I'm HIS boss. Remember how the whole Area Commandant thing works? Right... Bye!"

Monroe smiled hopefully as the guy hung up his cell and shoved it into his back pocket. He could have wept with relief as the blanket was tossed across to him and snatched it out of the air, retreating just a little into the bush so he could wrap up in decency. A nice cop. Not Jan, or Renard, or Wu... but... thank God. Someone older, who might cut a little slack.

His law-enforcement rescuer was in his mid-late fifties, was about the same size as him, but looked as if, under that suit, a lot of gym work went into the fine art of holding back the years. The guy beckoned him a couple of feet out of the shrub and he paused obediently when an upraised hand said 'stop'.

"Right," the guy said mildly. "We've been chasing lunatics all afternoon and I'm not in the mood for nutcase bullshit. You don't look like you fit that group, but you WILL explain what you're doing bloody and naked in the middle of the forest."

Monroe sighed. So much for imminent rescue.

**X x X**

Betty glared at Livvy. "What did you call me?"

"You're the Old Queen," she repeated evenly, fighting to keep her voice level in the face of that incredibly quelling glare. If at all possible, she wanted to move this conversation into a more private arena. She held Bud's eye reassuringly and turned back to Betty, trying to keep her voice reasonably low. She was out to get to the bottom of the feud, not make Betty out to be the Wicked Witch of the West. If she really was an 'Old Queen', she had quite enough of her own issues to deal with. In private, if possible. She cleared her throat and went on before Betty could cut in again. "For the first time ever, I think the 'Princess and the Pea' might actually have a relevant purpose."

"I'll be damned if I can see how! Who are you, anyway?"

"I'm a profiler," Livvy said, unwilling to go into the whole Andersen ancestry thing. "Look… most people think that the Princess and the Pea was about a Prince testing his beautiful overnight visitor to see if she really WAS a princess. She pitched up on the doorstep of his castle one night, claiming that she was lost, needing food, and a bed. They fell for one another on first sight. And she said that she was a princess."

"Easy to miss a huge, well-lit castle in the dark, I guess," Wu offered.

"The hallmark of a true princess was that she was super-sensitive. But was this girl sensitive ENOUGH to feel a pea hidden under five mattresses? And was she prepared to take it? It turns out that she was. The Prince grew besotted."

Betty pulled a face. "What sort of host makes a person sleep on five mattresses?"

"Been thinking about that whole story since last time Livvy tried to explain it to me," Hank murmured to Wu. "I'm thinking memory foam mattresses were involved."

"Oh yeah! I had one of those. Ditched it after a month. They're awful. They memorise your least comfortable position and commit you to it for the rest your life. Never again."

Livvy rolled her eyes and tried to stay focussed on Betty, making a failing attempt to move her gently to one side. Betty snatched her arm away, so Livvy was forced to continue before she lost momentum again. "The princess fell in love with the Prince, and really didn't want to leave. At first she felt the pea through five mattresses, then ten…. And so on. It was a test to see what the 'Princess' could take. Because what most people forget is that it was never the Prince that put the pea under all those mattresses. It was his mother, the Old Queen. The pea is just a symbol for general emotional discomfort. Every morning, when the Prince asked his Princess how she'd slept, she was forced to report that she was still uncomfortable. But that she wanted to stay anyway."

Hank scratched the back of his head. "So... the Old Queen hoped that the pissing and moaning about a goddamn pea would make the prince decide she was way too much like hard work, and cut her loose?"

"Exactly."

Bud raised his finger timidly, like he was in class. "Uh… Miss Andersen?"

"Yes?"

"A-am I the princess in this sc-scenario?"

"It's an illustrative tale, Bud. It's not meant to be gender-specific."

Bud looked unconvinced. "Oh. Okay."

"For what it's worth, man, I'd KILL for a fridge-fixing princess."

"Hank! Don't you have other stuff to do right now?" Livvy glared daggers, but the guy was not for moving. She wondered if he'd started drinking already, because he was NOT helping. Wu's cell went off and he retreated grudgingly to answer. Alas, Hank didn't follow him.

Betty glared at Livvy stonily. "I still fail to see what any of this has to do with me."

"Because, my Old Queen, after many, many years, you are still shoving peas under Bud's mattresses. You are still testing where your Prince ― Janie ― stands when torn between loyalty to mother and love for the Princess. And… to move into present day… you hate the way _you_ are around Bud. You hate feeling needy, forgotten and petty for needing Janie's reassurance so much, and the only way for you to feel better about this is to punish Bud by making him look worse than you feel. So long as you deliver your criticisms with a smile, you believe that all anyone will see is a flustered, incompetent, defensive man that can't cope with a little direction."

Betty's eyes filled a little and she looked away sharply, staring into the middle distance.

"And I have to say this because you have to hear it from someone who is not Janie or Bud. Bud is not that man. He will swallow a lot to prevent Janie from having to be torn in two directions, but left to his own devices, he's wise and loyal, and pretty damn courageous."

"Damn straight," Hank agreed. "After his bison-clouting episode earlier, he is now officially 'the Dog with the Log.' Eisbiberness notwithstanding."

Livvy swore inwardly. She appreciated Hank's Plain English narrative at times, but right now wish he'd shut the hell up while Betty was probably considering, for the first time in years, why she felt so threatened by her son-in-law. She put a light hand on Betty's arm, which was unsurprisingly thrown off. She was used to her mom throwing off her affection and put her hand right back there. "Mrs Kennedy, this isn't a punishment exercise."

"Is it not? Because it feels like one!"

"The crazy thing is, you're hiding the real you. You act like you won't survive life unless you make it clear that you're someone who won't suffer fools gladly. It's just a defence mechanism to make sure that no-one makes you feel a fool again. But as we've seen today, you're nobody's fool. You're a brave, protective and resourceful woman who will put herself in danger to protect a little one, even if you have doubts about where he fits in your family."

"Oh good. I'm so glad I'm not completely evil."

Livvy sighed, seeing the despair of both Bud and Janie, who she could see standing white and wide-eyed over to her right, wondering how this whole showdown was going to pan out. "Do you always do that, Betty?"

"Do what?"

"Hurl a compliment back at someone like it's a stink bomb they've just thrown through your window?"

"I-it makes it difficult to break the ice with you. Ever," Bud offered suddenly. "You know what? I don't actively d-decide that I'm going to have a hard time with you. In fact, at the start of every visit I say to myself 'it's g-going to be different this time. I will stay calm and friendly, and let stuff wash over me, and it'll all be ok.' And I make an effort, you know? Like, the first time you cook, I'll try and make some nice comment about your food and you just smack it back with something along the lines of―"

"Something like 'that's how I always do it?'" Betty finished. She sniffed hard. "Alright, so I do that. That's fair enough. But I was brought up to be modest."

"Probably," Livvy said, "But you now associate compliments with guilt and insincerity. The less faithful your husband, the kinder he became, I'll bet. There was no 'Old King' present in the Princess and the Pea. When did you lose your husband?"

"Oh young lady, I did not LOSE my husband. He ran. I scratched and clawed in some places, and begged and stayed silent in others to keep that relationship alive, but when someone's decided that you're not the one for them... "

"... Then you grow desperate, and unhappy, and fear being invisible and being abandoned by everyone else." Livvy squeezed Betty's hand, feeling a good degree of empathy on that one point.

As much as she hated her own ex now, and was glad to be free of him, knowing what her future would've held with him (total fraud and misery), it didn't make it any easier to have lost what she thought was a life-long thing. The Denny-crush was a palliative. Sure, he made her ovaries explode and it was an excellent distraction, but it was also just a plaster on something that needed a long recuperation period.

Suddenly she felt a light, returning squeeze on her hand and met Betty's gaze, seeing a weak, wet smile there. And then a bewildered, questioning look.

"How … do you know all this?"

Livvy pointed sheepishly up at one of the speakers lodged in a crook of a nearby tree. "Sorry, but you provided me with quite a lot of data."

"The speakers were on while we were arguing?"

"I'm afraid so."

"Oh…. GREAT! So now everyone thinks I'm this total bitch!?"

"Gramma Grimm!" Matty announced from knee-height and Livvy had never been so grateful for distraction in her life as Betty looked down and chuckled at her nearly-Grandson. Even if the little guy was holding the bloody knitting needle and stabbing it aimlessly into the air.

"Oh sweetie, I'm not a Grimm."

"Fights like favrit Grimm!"

Betty beamed hugely, and Hank snuck over on his knees, holding open a big plastic bag. "Say little guy, that's what we call 'evidence'. Let's not get your little hands all over it, huh? Can you drop the Gramma Grimm weapon in the bag for me? Cause that's what your favourite Grimm would do. He would keep the proof that Blutbad ass had been totally stabbed."

Matty obediently dropped the needle into the bag and then clambered up Betty for a hug. She grasped him eagerly, wrapping him into her arms, the love of being loved clearly evident in her eyes.

"Look… alright, a lot of this is about me. But would you believe it if I said that a lot of it is also about wanting my baby girl to be happy? About not settling for second-best, like I did?"

"Mom…"

Livvy stood back as Janie finally stepped up to the game and felt Hank's arm hook round her shoulders. Hank indicated his approval of her success with a light bicep squeeze that ever-so-slightly cut off her circulation on her left side. She grinned up at her Lieutenant and nudged him off a little, wanting to see how this actually played out.

"Mom… all you have to do to make me happy is to say 'I want you to be happy.' That's all it takes. Really. Because you already did all the hard work. You were both my Mom and Dad for years and made me feel loved and safe and… when I met Bud, I was in the right frame of mind to know what love looked like. That was because of you. I'm sorry you felt that you settled for Dad and it all went wrong, but Bud's my first and only choice. And I'd be the happiest woman in the world if you'd just―"

"Get my head around that?" Betty finished for her. Then attempted a smile. "Bud, I'll do my best, but you've got to stop with the bumbling."

"Bumbling?"

"All the muttering you do when you're fixing a damn fridge? You've got to be upright and professional and show that you know what you're about! How else you gonna get repeat custom if you sit on your hind with your butt sticking out, thinking out loud?"

"Betty," Bud pointed out, pulling himself upright, "Fridges require diagnostics. You would be shocked by how many ways there are for Freon to misbehave. I figure out what is wrong by being rude to the Freon and swearing quietly at the door hinges. That is how I work, and you will respect that, like the many, many clients who have called me in horror over the last two weeks since you let it slip I'm moving out of the fridge business―"

"Alright! I get the picture." Betty chuckled. "No more gossip about you leaving the fridge business. But … kiddy playgrounds?"

"They're deadly," Hank confirmed. "If Bud's gonna start a campaign over the unrelaxing experience of taking a kid to a playground, I'm behind him all the way."

Livvy felt her heart lighten considerably as Hank led her back towards the beer tent, the only real argument going on now in the background being the hunt for the voice of 'the raffle'. Weirdly enough, Bud was trying to talk Betty INTO it.

"Great work, Agent A," Hank muttered into her ear.

"Thank you. But what was all that memory foam bullshit in aid of, exactly? Because I was on a roll, and you weren't really helping…"

"Girl, I'll have you know that that was finely-deployed strategy."

"Hmmm." She cocked an eyebrow up at him.

"It was. I thought that your profiling mind would stand out if you came across a lot smarter than other members of PPD, namely me and Wu. And you did, so… strategy complete."

"Right. Remind me to buy you a beer for your endless support," she said dryly, which was a mistake. Because the moment she got near the bar he ordered a quart of Heineken. Ok, so she was back to being barmaid. She could cope with that. Something deep inside hummed contentedly. She felt like her Andersen ancestry had made a useful difference, for once.

**: : : : :**

Stefan jiggled Carianne as he settled down at a table in the beer tent, and guided her gaze from her banana to his shirt pocket. Then gently put the banana in his pocket, wet-side up. It was still in her vision, but not in his face, which suited them both fine. He grinned down at her, marvelling at how much she looked like Jan. Finally... some more family to call his own other than Jan and Theo. And Carrie was exactly what he expected from a tiny Koninginleeuwen: fierce and demanding.

But unlike Francine, Carianne had Jan and Denny to bring her up. Both influences to counteract and guide the most vigorous and traditional of Koninglowen in the right direction. There was no doubt in his mind that Denny was around to stay, on whatever terms of relationship he and Jan had. Stefan was glad about that. He'd never seen his brother so happy.

Renard was eventually released from his detailed inspection of Theo's evolving 'weapons factory' and made his way over to Stefan's table, ruffling his palm over Carianne's head. Then he sat, but said nothing, gazing at him expectantly.

Stefan chose a low-key ice-breaker to get into conversation with the guy who he presumed, from Hank's description, was probably a Laufer high-flyer. He jerked his gaze over to the bar, where the reddy-brown haired girl was serving Hank a drink. "Who's the beautiful lunatic in the boot?"

"Livvy Andersen." Renard fixed him with a flat stare. "She works for me. She lives with a Grimm. She's going to be your brother's PA for three months while on light duties, and she also has a wild crush on a Siegbarste who may not return her affections, but who no doubt considers her part of his protective property. Flirt at your peril."

Stefan blinked. "You don't do small talk, do you? Fair enough, so here it is…"

He repeated what he'd told Hank and Renard nodded appreciatively throughout.

"Thank you. Why are you tracking Adalind Schade?"

"I'm not. I'm tracking my sister. Francine's initial interests in GQR made some sense: she got her degree in human anthropology, so artefact-hunting wasn't a suspicious move. But her transcendence to the overall Executive board makes _no_ legitimate sense. She's 30. She has no qualifications apart from her degree. She hasn't even run any of the major divisions of the company."

"That would make me curious. Thanks for the heads up." Renard inclined his head slightly. "You and your sister are… divided?"

It took quite a lot of effort not to laugh rudely. Stefan occupied himself by moving Carianne's little arms to the motions of YMCA (to her absolute delight) and stuck to the basics. "I'll give you a clue. Jan is nine years older than Francine. Both have the same mother and father. However, Francine is only four months older than me."

It took precisely three seconds for Renard to deduce the situation and whistled lowly. "You sound as welcome in your family as I am in mine. But what makes her such a threat?"

Stefan released his breath slowly. "You know what I did in the navy? I was part of a specialist unit deployed by the UN to rescue submerging ships and submarines in danger. Professionally, I'm quite short of enemies. But over the last few months I've been in two nearly-fatal accidents, my cards keep getting blocked for no good reason, and I've started receiving threats. A few months ago, my 'father' revised his will to include me. I don't think any of this is a coincidence."

"Agreed." Renard rapped his knuckles on the table. "You talked about what you 'did' in the Navy. You're a little young to have retired."

The guy didn't miss much, Stefan noted. "Invalided out as of three weeks ago. Mental health."

"Ready to hear it when you want to talk about it."

Stefan nodded, grateful for the abrupt conversation shut-down offer. He did not ever again want to think about his last 'official' day at work. That 'thing' on the ship... spitting on everyone... changing them... no wonder the fucker sank. No-one was left to man it. But he made damn sure that the 'thing' went down with the ship before he and only two other uninfected people got away on a raft.

"Do you have information on Adalind that you can pass on digitally?"

Good. Back to business. There was plenty of digital Adalind data. While clearly devoted to his paid role of keeping tabs on Francine, his GQR spy was also very good with his close-ups on attractive women. And Francine's very attractive, new best friend Adalind most definitely had a pregnancy bump, after spending only a few months in the presence of wesen 'Prince' Eric.

"Text Jan an IP address for an encrypted server. I'll send you the photos and a cell number. You'll have questions."

"I appreciate it." Renard stood. "I'm calling an intelligence summit next week. Are you sticking around?"

"Yeah. Jan's Portland apartment's still on lease. I'll be staying there until I figure out what to do next."

"Good. Last searching question. Are you driving back or taking the late-night coach?"

"The coach back to Jan's. With the kids."

"In that case, I'll get us both a beer."

As Renard swept over to the bar, Stef's gaze followed and he locked eyes with the profiler-come-barmaid, Livvy, the one with the evil back-hand swipe and violent objection to being carried around. He shot her a wicked grin and shamelessly used Carianne's arm to wave with. She shot him a flinty look and served Renard.

Protective property of a Siegbarste, huh? Hmmm. In that case, he'd just need to ask Denny nicely if it was ok to ask her if she wanted to go for a drink sometime...

**X x X**

Freya was a born fidgeter. This much was becoming increasingly obvious, and just as Nick was about to swing his broken leg out of its padded swing to sit alongside her and BEG her to tell him what she knew, the plastering guy burst in.

Thankfully, he was not a conversational guy. He paused to confirm that Nick didn't want the baby-pink thread, offered a choice of red, white and blue (Nick went for blue), and after a brief, hot and stinging period of the fibreglass glue setting against his shin, the 'plastering' was swiftly completed and he and Freya were left alone again while it set.

"She had an ectopic pregnancy when you were about two. They really wanted a little sibling for you, but it didn't work out that way. The pregnancy turned dangerous real quick because she didn't get the pain signals early enough and Reed nearly lost her. Usually a missing tube doesn't need to mean the end of a woman's gynae world, but her polycystic ovaries meant that you were already their little miracle, so... they had to get their heads around the fact that you were their one gift and there wasn't going to be another child. I got the impression that this hit Reed a lot harder than it hit Kelly."

"Did you ever meet my mom?"

"Two or three times, yes."

He inclined his head encouragingly. "And…?"

"She was definitely a lady that had to… grow on you."

He burst out laughing. It reminded him of Monroe's attempts to be polite about Mama Grimm. "She had to grow on you… you really didn't like her, did you?"

"I wanted to like her. But she was brusque and militaresque, and only softened because she needed some help one time when you and Reed got sick at the same time." Freya sighed. "I think your mom forgot that Grimms are basically human because she came storming into the salon with you in her arms, begging me to 'fix' you both because the apothecary was out of town. And believe me, grudging begging is not an attractive thing."

Nick nodded, remembering his mom's reaction to Monroe and Rosalee. He could understand her having serious reservations about appealing to a Hexenbiest for help. Still - that was a good thing. She knew when to put her family ahead of her suspicions, he guessed.

"So I visited. It was perfectly obvious what was wrong with the pair of you. Violent flu. My 'fix' was to call 911. I totally got her desperation over making you better because you wouldn't drink, let alone take any Tylenol. Reed had a nasty bronchial infection and needed several days of rest and IV antibiotics. It was a really low point in their relationship a few weeks after that."

Nick felt a little cold. "Because she didn't spot how sick he was?"

"No, because she didn't give him time to recover. He'd been home from hospital a couple of days, no more, when she had to go off and help Marie warn off a Hasslich who'd been threatening her. I could just be imagining this from the expressions on his face and change in his eyes because he was eternally loyal to your mom out loud, but I don't think he ever really forgave her for abandoning him to the exhaustion of childcare when he was barely capable of pulling his head off a couch pillow."

Nick wasn't sure he wanted to hear any more. It all had the ring of truth, in that it was always his father that made a big deal of birthdays, major social triumphs and other academic events, but as much as it reassured him to hear how much his father cared in the early years as well as those that he remembered, he wasn't sure if he could take much more evidence of his mom being so hard. Particularly towards his dad.

"Why did you leave Rhinebeck?" he asked suddenly, and then Freya looked truly sad.

"Dean's gambling led him into trouble with Hasslich loan sharks — yeah, them again — and we had to get out of the area. In fairness, your Dad and Mom totally worked as a team. Reed helped Dean to set up new living places for both me and him, and negotiated an interim payment to the trolls to get them to back off. They did. He was a Grimm, after all. And an arbitrator, for a living." Her eyes twinkled. "You don't bother trying to argue with an arbitrator. They're just better at it than you."

"And Mom's role?"

"She smacked six brands of regurgitated beer out of Dean after he suggested that he move in with me to keep down costs after we moved. This was after he'd ruined my business and my credit record and forced me to move from a place that I loved."

Nick grinned inwardly. He could picture his mom leaping to the aid of her fellow female, particularly after she'd had help herself. And he needed to hear it. The near-breakup stuff was just painful to listen to. "Thanks for telling me that."

"It took a while. But yeah, she was a woman that grew on me. And you were definitely a Grimm from an early age, Nick."

"I thought you said there was no way of telling?"

"No way of telling which _kind_ of Grimm, sure, but your aim! My god. I remember Dean coming into the shop while I was talking to your Pa and that man — Dean, not your Pa — was giving me _such_ a hard time about not leaving him money for something. You hurled five donuts at his head and three of them got him right in the face. Oh... to have had an iphone in those days..."

"Do you have other stuff on my father?" Nick couldn't help asking, knowing Denny would be back soon.

"I have an embarrassing number of Early Rhinebeck photos scanned and saved on my hard drive at Esme's place. You'll wish you never asked me that."

"No, I won't."

"Uh, yeah, you will. Because in some of those photos, you look like you barely escaped alive from treading on a chocolate bomb. There's one picture of you at 18 months with big visible eyes and a clean right pinkie, but as for the rest of you…"

Nick cringed slightly as Denny chose that precise moment to return to the room, grinning broadly.

"It's one of the things I've always admired about Nick. Seeing him at work around an open cake tin…. the speed at which he works... It's just awe-inspiring."

"Yeah, alright…." Nick's cheeks heated, just a little.

"Aww. Pink Grimm. Never mind. Freya — Jan would like to take you up on your very kind offer to cut his hair tomorrow morning before anyone spots the 'Fabio'. He'll drive round to yours at about eight. Is that alright, or does that class as an ungodly hour?"

"I get to trim Tarzan? Hot damn. My luck gets better by the day. Eight's fine." Freya bent to answer her cell as it buzzed in her handbag and made a quick arrangement to meet Esme in the unloading-only carpark. Nick couldn't really see any wardens giving Freya or any friend of hers a hard time about that. Just as she was ringing off, Nick's cell rang and it was Jan.

"Sorry, Nick. I should just get Freya's cell number. That's the one detail I keep forgetting to ask."

"Shall I pass you over?"

"Just put me on speakerphone, if you wouldn't mind."

Nick did so. "How's Rosalee and Monroe?"

"Rosalee's fine, tucked up on the couch with Bruno. I'm just making sure she has everything she needs to hand, then I'm off out to look for Monroe."

He felt a little cold. "He's not home yet? Shit. I hope nothing's happened."

"So do I, believe me. By the way, I thought considering that both you and Livvy are a little... indisposed at the moment, that it might be a good idea for you both to move in with us for a few days until you find your feet."

Room service! Nick could've punched the air with happiness. "That... would be GREAT."

"And Freya, Denny told me about your safer neighbourhood group on Thursday, but I've checked my calendar and sincerely, I can't make it. It's parents' night at my son's nursery."

"Oh, that's such a shame. You know, I might have to cancel. Folks are starting to say that there's no point in having a watch group if the Police are never around to report our watchings to. We tried a few sergeants, even the two local guys and everyone's always busy. The Wheeler sisters are going to be so disappointed. They went to town on the light bites."

Nick was about to offer to volunteer Hank's services as a new and fresh Lieutenant eager to make his mark when Jan cut in excitedly.

"Freya, are the Wheeler sisters the Gresham twins who are competitive about their cakes?"

"Yes!" Denny barked, making Nick jump. "Used to love cake. Never want to see the stuff ever again!"

"They make very good cake," Freya chided.

"It doesn't matter whether it's very good cake or bloody awful cake if you're made to eat about four tins of it!"

Nick chewed on his knuckle to contain his schadenfreude. "How did that happen?"

"You may well ask, Nick. I only went round there to set their sodding fire alarms up for them. Next thing I know, I'm being force-fed identical chocolate slices with my tea and every time I tried saying I couldn't have another mouthful, they looked at me like I'd just burned their life savings. Stop sniggering, Nick."

"I'm not," Nick choked.

"Fuck's sake. I'm going to have bad dreams about lemon-coconut fondant rolls for months."

Jan chuckled darkly through the speakerphone. "Freya, I'm a cop, but I'm just an Personnel Director. What you need is a real, live Captain to get people to sit up and listen. Nick, could you give her Renard's direct dial? And get Wu to put it into his calendar?"

"You want me to…?" Nick shared an alarmed look with Denny. "For the record, 'Sir', I accept no responsibility for outcomes resulting from the remainder of this conversation."

"Understood."

Freya frowned. "Is Captain Renard not much one for public appearances?"

"He's getting so much better at it," Jan smoothed. "But it's all a little new to him. He's operational, you know? Very hands-on. Not a Liaison man at all. Because he'll be so nervous, perhaps ask the sisters to put him at ease with light refreshments before he has to start speaking?"

Nick gaped at the fiendishness of it all.

"Thank you so much. I'll be sure to call."

Jan rang off, leaving Nick with a quiet phone, warm with mischief. WOW. He wondered what Renard had done to deserve that.

Nevertheless, he found Renard's number and scribbled it down on a tiny, tiny pad Freya kept in her purse. He got to his feet, Denny helped to strap the boot on over the thin plaster, and they made their way to the cab rank. Freya got picked up and taken away safely in moments, and Nick waited there till Denny swung round with the Spyder.

He was glad she'd be keeping in touch. He had a feeling that there was a lot more to hear.

**X x X**

It struck Steve Wilkes, as the nervous, shuddering naked guy stumbled out of the shrub, that... bloodied or not, his apologetic, lost expression suggested someone who'd been running from something, not chasing something like a lunatic. Though admittedly, he still looked like a lunatic. And, as he'd pointed out to Wu, he'd been working Portland long enough not to let his guard drop easily.

Steve threw him an explanatory life line. "Without moving an _inch_ closer, can you explain the blood?"

"I tripped over that deer." The guy looked as if he were going to point helpfully, but pulled his hand back into the blanket, clearly realising at the last moment that the situation did not need a Basic Instinct reveal of the accidental kind.

"It's quite large, Sir. You didn't spot it because...?"

"I was running."

"And the... nakedness?"

"I'm sure I wasn't this naked when I started running. I had ... cords on. And underpants!" The guy tucked the blanket under his armpits, wrapping it one extra time round his front and pinned it against his chest with one hand while rubbing his face despairingly with the other. "Look, I don't really remember. That's the truth. I'm not a natural-born trouble-maker. Uh... well... actually that's a bit of a fib. I am. But I try really, really hard not to be and... God, I just want to go home and see my fiancee and baby, alright?"

"New baby?"

"Born this afternoon. I got a little overwrought and had to go for a run, and then everything totally got on top of me. Look, being stuck naked in a shrub with guns pointed at me... not in the birth plan, you know? I didn't kill any deer, I didn't flash at any scouts..."

"Ok, step towards me slowly, just five paces," Steve cut in. He had a degree of sympathy for the new father angle. When his kid brother had his daughter, the family celebrated the event by getting him so drunk that he called his first-born girl by his ex-wife's name. A paternity stunt didn't seem out of the question, here.

"I didn't mean for any of this to happen," the guy croaked. "She was overdue... so we got sick to death of waiting and decided we were going to go to this winterfest thing anyway."

This was ringing a bell for Steve. "The Bavarian fair? We picked up a whole lot of trouble-makers from there." They were pretty self-protective, those Bavarians, apparently.

"Yeah, my girl has a shop selling a lot of specifically Teutonic goods. We had a stall to drum up business. Then she went into labour, and these ..."

"...nasty pieces of work turn up?" Steve finished for him. Guys from across four precincts had been taking statements from hikers, family campers and the scout group themselves most of the afternoon as well as towing away Christ only knew how many trouble-makers from the Bavarian fair. He sighed. "Follow me to the car."

The guy shuffled after him at an eager trot, and only when Steve severely slowed his pace did the man get the message that he was supposed to walk with him, not behind. The two uniforms followed at a distance, keeping their pieces trained on the weirdo in the blanket.

Weirdo raked a hand through his hair. "I know this is way too much to hope, but is this a sign that you're going to drive me home?"

"It entirely depends on what my sergeant says," Steve said honestly, directing the man towards a rear passenger seat as they approached his car. He preferred staying on beat once every two weeks so he kept a plastiflex sheet between the front and back seats so he could make enquiries in peace and transport suspects safely, leaving his officers' hands free. He called Wu back, and John answered on the second ring.

"Wu, you were trying to tell me something earlier and I cut you off. What's the average age of the assholes you helped to take down at the fair?"

"Somewhere between 18 and 22."

"So... a naked, confused man in his early forties claiming very recent parenthood is not really part of the wolf-wannabe demographic. Ok. I'll run the guy home. But if there's no lady and baby there, I'm bringing him straight to Portland for blatant bullshitting."

"Is his name Eddie Monroe?"

Steve asked. Weirdy Eddie nodded ecstatically. "I've got him."

Wu seemed to discuss something with someone off the line. "Sorry, just talking to Renard."

"Renard's there too?"

"Special constabulary recruitment. With Jan. Oh, and Nick Burkhardt. And Hank Griffin."

Steve blinked. "I cleared ALL of you to be on leave at the same time? That was a little foolish of me!"

"No, they all snuck their leave past the out-going commandant before you joined."

He sighed. Leave it to Tony DeMarcos to leave him totally senior-staffless on his first day in post, with widespread teenage rage to deal with. He made mental note to clock his one-time partner with a pool cue before they had their next beer. His guys had never come across gang behaviour like the kind they'd witnessed today. It creeped him out a little. He put the car into drive.

"You still there, Sir?"

"Yeah, just going to drop Mr Monroe home. What the hell was going on with all those kids?"

"I blame Twilight, personally."

"John, you've been blaming Twilight for everything weird in Portland since 2006. For the four years before that, I distinctly you blaming everything on Canada, courtesy of South Park. At some point, you're going to have to tell me what it is about Portland that you know and I don't."

There was a long, suspiciously un-Wu like pause, unbroken by snark or wisecracks. Eventually Wu promised to change his mantras up more often. Steve hung up with a muttered thanks and a sigh. Wu and Renard always seemed a weird Sergeant-Captain combination to him: Wu so sarcastic, Renard so serious. But the enigmatic Captain wouldn't have anyone else.

The guy in the back seat confirmed his address and and slumped with relief in the back seat. Steve accompanied Monroe to the door, and it was snatched inward before they'd even knocked. A beautiful, but exhausted woman stood in the doorframe, holding a baby small enough to pass for a toddler's doll. While Wilkes gaped, Monroe gave his girl an awkward half-body hug, neither of them caring about the mess on him, but also being careful not to panini their baby.

Wilkes still couldn't stop staring. "Wow..." he spluttered. "Shouldn't he be in a special care baby unit... or something?"

"We're assured that he's fine," she said. And she looked absolutely stunning herself, for a lady that should be flat on her back, moaning, with her feet up. Steve just paused to stick the tip of his forefinger under one of the tiny uplifted palms by way of hand-shake (he trusted in the blue babygro for gender guidance) and left them to it. From the spellbound expression on Mr Monroe's face, they had a little catching-up to do.

* * *

**_Ta da! Coming soon... Monroe and Bruno talk clocks... Nick de-briefs Wu... and Nick's not sure how he feels about what crops up in his mail..._**


	10. Troubles on the Home Front

**And we're into the closing chapters!**

**Thanks for all the lovely reviews on the last chapter, and to my lovely wakeup-weirdness-loving guest, who I can't thank by PM, as I would usually do.**

**And on we march… I hope you enjoy it.**

**X x X**

"Annette Curtin? Do we have Annette Curtin here? You have ticket number 507 for the Pierrot Luiges champagne!"

Sean sidled out of the beer tent to get some air and put some space between himself and the juvenile delinquents from his precinct when Mrs 'Grimmette' Kennedy realised that her raffle tickets had been tampered with.

"Amanda Huggenkiss?" Betty called out over the PA. "I need… Amanda Huggenkiss, who has… winning ticket 231… wait just a minute…"

Sean cast a glance back into the tent where Hank and Wu were helpless with drunk laughter, slapping their hands on the table in the very few spaces left between the empty plastic beer cups.

"The Simpsons!" Wu squeaked… "It never gets old…"

As predicted, his view was abruptly filled with Ma Biber, who stopped briefly at the table to clip his guys round the ear, then stomped over to him, arms folded.

"Captain Renard, as helpful as your men've been today, I think we've seen enough of the 'approachable' side of PPD. Don't you?"

"Indeed." He looked around the tent and decided that the day was soon approaching a natural end. There was a lot of beer-induced wogeing going on. He pulled out his cell phone and the card that Jan gave him with the driver's cell number. "I'll get the coach here a little early. But I can't do much about Hank and Wu. They're on leave."

"Lacking in female influence is what they are," Betty said archly, but headed back into the tent to continue her announcements. Sean let them filter off into the background and took a cooling breath of peaceful night air. As the coach finally showed up, Stefan joined him outside, holding Carianne in one arm, with Theo sitting on the other, protesting droopily about leaving so soon. Stefan had the look of a man who'd had the same argument six times in six calm ways.

"You've made enough weapons of Blutbad destruction to last Nick a decade. He'll have nowhere to put them," Stefan reasoned. "Are you connecting with your inner Eisbiber, or something? Are you planning to block him into his apartment with them? It's time to go home."

"Why?"

"Je bent moe!"

"I'm _not_ tired! And I don't speak Dutch anymore." Theo's face scrunched into an expression of indignant determination that made Sean have to turn his face away to conceal his grin. "And it doesn't matter what time I'm going to bed tonight because I'm staying at Uncle Sean's, which will be top fun even if he doesn't have sprinkles."

Stefan cast him a startled look, to which Sean returned a bewildered head-shake.

"Yes I am!"

"I'm afraid your intelligence is faulty. Who said you were staying with me?"

"Me!"

"You've been gravely misinformed. By yourself, unfortunately."

Stefan bit down on his lip as Theo tried making his eyes huge and round with woe.

"Stop making your eyes huge and round. It's not going to work. I have suspects doing that all the time, and it doesn't work for them, either."

Theo pouted.

"And no pouting," Stefan muttered, his blockade approach to emotional blackmail clearly very similar to his own.

As Stefan led the grousing tot off to the coach, Sean began the business of rounding people up and getting them on board. Some took more rounding up than others: Bud's delivery onto the bus required the assistance of both Mauvais Dentes and most of the wesen teenagers who were giggling so much they nearly dropped him on the steps. Sean didn't envy the man: he was in charge of the clean-up operation in the morning. All the expensive technical gear was being loaded into the back of the coach for safety.

By the time everyone was on board, he was genuinely exhausted and looked around for a nice peaceful seat. Since Livvy was snoozing quietly against the window, he sat next to her with Stefan and the kids directly in front, Theo's head now flopped down on his shoulder.

Sean chuckled helplessly. Of course the little man 'wasn't sleepy…..'

Not tonight, but perhaps another night, he would offer to take Theo. A champion had to get to know his Patriarch. He'd have to stock up on harmless weaponry items, though. And sprinkles.

**X x X**

Wu woke at four in the morning with a parched mouth and throbbing head. He went to the can, then got himself a vase of water and downed the lot. And tried going back to bed. But he couldn't sleep. He lay still with his eyes closed for a while but kept seeing those kids…. change. They looked human on the whole but he kept seeing flashes: long teeth, a furry cheekbone: kept hearing the crack of neckbones as they snapped at the air and then turned back into teenaged boys again. He opened his eyes and could see fangs in the bamboo wallpaper design in his room. Goddamn...

As quietly as possible, he had a shower, decided that hair of the dog was the best thing for the state he was in, and grabbed the first bottle of spirits his hand rested on in the cupboard. JD. Ok, that would do. No work today, anyway. He poured himself three fingers, decided that he had small fingers, and tipped a little more in. Then some ice cubes. Then he pulled the photo albums from his top shelf. They weren't full of photos, but articles.

He sat in his armchair and stuck his feet up on the pouffe. The first album was his collection of the 'real experiences' articles sent in from readers of the Portland post. He'd kept them for inspiration in case he ever got started on that fantasy-comedy book he'd been thinking about. Some of them were emotive pieces: "I lost my husband to the check-out girl," for example. But most of them appeared to have been written by nutcases. Or so he'd thought.

_My car was stolen by a life-sized otter._

_My housemate really was a total pig_

_How I trapped my snake of a boss_

They all had such different potential now. How many people in his life were actually wesen? Apparently Renard was. Wilkes wasn't. Hank wasn't. He was pretty convinced that Tom the not-too-bright cleaner at PPD was a Siegbarste, like Denny, if only because of his possessive attitude towards Nick and his total completer-finisher mentality. He was reasonably sure that Mariam wasn't, though the only way to check that out was to ask Nick. But that would feel sneaky and underhand, and... she'd handled the student riot so calmly. What if that was because she was wesen? Could he handle it if she were? He wasn't even sure he could handle Renard being wesen.

He finished his drink and poured another. He figured he could handle another one of those, at least.

**X x X**

Rosalee woke to a sound that was still so new that she hadn't wrapped her ears or head around it: Bruno, crying. She pulled her eyes open and peered at the bedside clock, waiting for the numbers to refine into something readable through the sleep trying to seal her lids shut. She rubbed her face and had another go. 07.02. She'd slept four hours since the last feed, which was ok. And she was sore: pressure was building up in her chest. She needed to feed Bruno probably more than he needed to be fed. She was about to creep out of bed to scoop Bruno up when Monroe leant over the cot and lifted him out.

He cradled the little boy in his hands, humming in German, and then scooted over to the bed, all smiles as he saw that she was awake. "Hey! Mommy's up! It's snack 'o clock!"

She giggled. "_Snack_? God, he sucks like it's a three-course soup meal."

"Want to sit up, or lie on your side?"

"I'll stay lying down. Thanks, honey." She pulled over the thin cushion which they'd found through experimentation was the perfect height to raise Bruno so he could feed on his side without either of them reaching or straining. Monroe put him down super-slowly and Bruno attached instantly, even with his eyes closed. She put her hand over his back to keep him still, stroking around the soft, bendy little ear with her thumb. Bruno mumbled contentedly as he fed, pushing here and there with his dime-sized palm to improve the flow rate, then she felt something burst inside like a clot dam had broken. Bruno pulled away and spluttered, flapping his arms irritably as he got hosed in the face, but dived straight back to the job, determined to get that milk in him while the gold was still gushing.

She dried his face as best she could around the point of attachment (he was not one for detaching while focussed) and he closed his fist around the tip of her pinkie. At the softness of his skin, she felt tears smart her eyes and a twitch prick her chin. Her lower lip vibrated.

Monroe finally gazed up from his adoring inspection of Suction Son and gave her a soppy look which very quickly turned into an aghast expression of alarm. "God, what is it?"

"Oh I'm fine," she bawled truthfully. "My milk's come in!"

"That's good... isn't it?"

She nodded frantically under the warm hand now stroking her face, and bawled. "It's great!"

"Well… that's good. Very good. It's just that you just seem... a little... distraught. Like things _aren't_ great. As such."

"Not distraught at all," she sobbed. "It's just a little early... this isn't supposed to happen for a few days."

"What isn't?"

"The weepies."

"You're going to weep lots?" Monroe's open-mouthed horror pushed giggles through her tears.

"Did you have tofu in your ears during those last ante-natal sessions?" She chuckled wetly, wiping her face with the back of her hand.

"I think… I was a little too wound up to hear anything. I mean, there was plenty of _listening_ going on, just not… much… absorbing of information."

"Ok, well this is not upset weeping. This is hormonal weeping."

"So what do I do when you um… start… ah…"

"Hugs will do."

"I think I can work with that." He looked hugely relieved and dropped a kiss on her cheek, clambering awkwardly over Bruno to do so. He looked so different now… much more like the Monroe she knew, albeit with the million extra responsibilities. The waiting was over, and she felt like she had the 'real' him back again. So she finally got round to the question she hadn't really wanted to ask yet because she was slightly afraid of the answer. A large part of her hoped that Monroe had eked out all that stress, fear and ridiculous self-doubt during his pack run, but being caught naked in the woods couldn't have been great for his blood pressure either. As Bruno sucked away cheerfully, showing real energy for such an itty-bitty thing, she slid her fingers through Monroe's short beard and smiled as he glanced back up at her.

"How are you? Really?"

"Good." And it was said with a smile that had the sincerity to shove the heavy stones of weight off both her shoulders in one powerful second. He looked properly peaceful. Bruno broke off from his feed, dipped into his cushion and did a belch like the last gurgle of a draining bath. Monroe looked delighted.

"Tiny dude! I think Carianne actually has some serious competition, here!" He scooped Bruno off the cushion and rested him on half his forearm, cosying him in against his chest. "What say we have a walk around your new territory? You can sniff things out a little, see how the land lies and where all the really important stuff is. Apart from the milk, that is..."

Rosalee stretched and flopped out of bed to get a shower. Moving into Monroe's place permanently rather than sleep in the flat by the tea and spice store was a great move — particularly where the shower was concerned. It pounded her hotly and she felt all the tension of labour float away. She probably stayed in there a half hour, ten minutes on the floor just enjoying the deluge. Eventually she climbed out, put on a fresh nightie and Monroe's dressing gown, and crept downstairs to see how he was doing.

"...now this one's a beaut. I got her for $680 but get this... when I rearranged the original complications back to their correct striking pattern, she started doing the Winchester chime on the hour, the Westminster chime at the half hour, and she's flame mahogany! From 1895! You know what this means?"

Bruno's arms waved frenetically. Rosalee didn't know whether this was in protest or inherited horological excitement and pressed her fingers against her lips to stem the rising giggles.

"... it means that when I finally decide that I can let go of this beauty, she's worth nearly nine THOUSAND bucks! Yeah! That's like... an almost-decent car! And by decent, I mean that it starts and keeps moving once it starts, and that the belts do up, and that it comes in a shade other than all-I-can-afford brown. But ok, enough about cars. Now, this beauty with the silver ball at the top is a 1795 — year of Marie Antoinette's death — Monstrance clock, rescued from Le St Sulpice during the last throes of the French Revolution. Or so says the seller. I think that's total mouse-crap, but it's very pretty and would get about a thousand bucks at auction... are you even listening?"

Rosalee settled down on the bottom step as Monroe held his comatose son aloft in his palms, the little arms drooping down, the diaper bulging like a mattress under the over-sized babygro.

"You nodded off? Really? Because you've had such an exhausting day so far, right? You woke up, got cuddled, got cuddled some more, had a king-size feed, got cuddled some more during a clock lesson and now you're out cold?"

Bruno snored gently by way of confirmation, making Rosalee nearly dissolve with silent laughter at the bottom of the steps. Then the phone rang. Monny snatched it up.

"Pa! Ja… gut!... Pa? Was ist los?"

There was a moment of mumbling, of which Rosalee understood not one word. Apart from the terms in her apothecary's books, all of which came with translation, her German extended to 'please pass the Black Forest gateau', and her multi-lingualism was limited to saying 'do you speak English?' in nine languages. She didn't think that being able to out-Italian the staff in Starbucks really counted. She slid off the stairs and over to Monny, who was holding the plastic receiver almost hard enough to crack it, while cradling Bruno lightly in the other arm. She loved it when he multi-tasked.

She mouthed at him. _You Ok?_

Monny clamped the phone against his chest and muttered out of the corner of his mouth. " I'm trying to prevent an immediate visit onslaught from New Hampshire."

`She caught her breath. She hadn't even _met_ his parents or family yet. "What kind of onslaught?"

"A pack onslaught. That means parents, two brothers and their families. Hence my prevention tactics."

She breathed out as he continued the conversation in a steady, mollifying voice, but at the end of the day, the word 'virus' seemed to be the same across most languages, and she wondered what ghastly disease he'd concocted for one of them to be 'suffering from' to keep his family at bay for a few days longer. She was glad for the alone time to get used to being mom with Bruno and get her head around the fantastic warmth that was being his fiancée, but ...

...that she'd allowed herself to forget about marrying into a family of carnivores. She swallowed hard but tried to keep the nerves out of her face. "Have you told them about our engagement yet?"

Monroe shook his head and she stared at him.

"Sweetheart, I want to do that when they come see us and meet you in person. When they come see Bruno and meet you properly, they'll 'get' it. They'll fall in love with you like I have, but until then, they're operating on the great wesen stereotype model. Giving them the bald facts over the phone? I'd rather not do it that way, honey."

For a split second, anonymity and hormones came together to create a mental whirlpool and she wanted to be mad. But he knew his parents, of course. She settled herself down. Of course he didn't want to hand them all the facts at the same time. And she hoped that his folks would 'fall in love with her', as somewhat optimistically predicted. As Monroe switched to English and treated his father to a description of his non-existent rash (at least she didn't have the horrible virus, then), she scooped Bruno out of his arms and took him for a walk around the lounge. He gurgled at her sleepily and stuck a little foot randomly in the air. She kissed the tiny toes and settled, still exhausted, onto the couch. On reflection, she was really glad that he was putting off their arrival. She needed a few more days to acclimatise to being 'mom'.

**X x X**

Nick woke to a godawful smell. He wrapped his hands over his face for protection, but the stink had pulled up a chair and made itself at home in his room. He tried rolling onto his side, too sleepy to remember his plaster. The crack of hard ankle against bare one woke him up completely and he sat bolt upright with irritation to find Denny dangling Carianne in front of his face. She clearly needed a change of diaper. Nick clamped his hand over his nose and mouth and glared furiously.

"What the hell was that for? That was evil!"

"He's awake!" Denny called out into the corridor, and shot Nick a sheepish grin. "Sorry, I was running out of ideas."

"Go away."

"Going!"

As Denny darted out, holding Carrie at arm's length, Nick rubbed his hands down his face and swung his legs over the side of the bed. He bent for his crutches as Jan strode into the room, his hair tied back in a sleek ponytail. He carried a tray covered in breakfast stuff, which mollified Nick instantly.

"Sorry, Nick, I'd planned to give you a lie-in but I need your help with something before I leave."

"Where're you... oh yeah. Haircut by Freya."

Jan placed the tray on the side of the double-bed and nipped back out of the room. He returned with a pad and pen. "I need you to draw how my hair was before yesterday's woge."

"Wha'?"

"Oh dear. You haven't woken up yet."

Nick took the coffee being pressed urgently into his hand and sipped at it gratefully. "Jan... not to dent your ego, but... I hadn't really paid that much attention to your hair yesterday. Until you turned into Tarzan, that is."

"That's fine. I'll have to describe it..."

Nick submitted to twenty minutes of really irritating instructions and microscopic adjustments with eraser and pencil until Jan finally nodded with satisfaction. He got slight revenge by drawing a superman body under the head that was about three millimetres high but perfectly formed.

"You think I'm big-headed?"

"Just a tiny little bit."

Jan shrugged and whipped something out of his pocket, leaving it on Nick's bedside cabinet. "Perfect picture, so that's a proper 'Thank you'. Enjoy, and I'll see you later."

Nick was focussed on one thing: breakfast. He arranged his pillows, shuffled the tray onto his lap and got stuck in. He ate like a Grimm, then noted with huge approval what Jan had left by his bedside. A voucher for a one-hour massage at a local health place. God, that sounded good. And after a couple of days on crutches, he'd need it.

Feeling quite full, twenty minutes later, he craned himself out of bed and hopped like a lunatic down the corridor to the bathroom, using the wall as a support. Livvy opened the door just as he was leaning on the handle and he nearly fell inwards. Good reflexes were useful and he saved himself on the sink, levering himself upright.

"Hey Livs."

"Hnnn."

He gazed at her closely. She looked clean, decently towelled, but crumpled and red-eyed, even after cleaning up. "You alright? You look a little... hungover."

"Not so much hung over as flung over. God. _Never_ let me do competitive drinking with Hank again." She looked down at his plaster. "Damn. YOU ok?"

"I'll be fine. Straightforward break." They hopped round each other awkwardly, then he remembered he wasn't supposed to get his lower leg wet. "Livvy, how am I supposed to have a shower?"

"Have a bath, you crutch newbie!"

"Oh. Yeah. So that's why you always take so long." He looked down into the tub. It was deep. Upper arm strength was beside the point: there was nothing to lever himself up against. "So how do I get out afterwards?"

"Use the rope." She draped the end of the dressing-gown cord tied to the towel rail over the lid of the John so he could reach it once he was done cleaning up. "And I'll have you know that I did not take that long. In fact, if you can get cleaned up and out in under twelve minutes, I'll buy the coffees for the first full week we're both back at work."

"I'm not racing you, you competitive goof."

"Whatever!"

Nick shrugged nonchalantly as she shuffled off down the corridor, then bolted the door and dived for the tub, determined to beat her time. He cleaned up at high speed with his leg hanging out of the tub and endured the world's most uncomfortable hair-wash before hauling himself out, towelling off, pinning the towel around his waist and flinging himself out of the bathroom.

"You lose!"

The cheerful voice fluted into his ear from the side of the doorway, making him groan inwardly. Livvy, fully dressed, turned her smartphone around to show him the stopwatch reading on the screen. "13.05.01. And that's with me being nice by not adding the two minutes it took me to find the phone and start the clock. Be prepared to hand your credit card to Starbucks!"

Nick rolled his eyes and got to his room to get dressed. Then he followed her downstairs, copying her descent technique by using his one good heel, the heels of his hands and his butt. He saw no reason to re-discover all the techniques for plaster-survival by himself. He'd just hopped to the couch when he was handed another pad and pen by Denny. It featured a list of clothing items on the left, a margin, and then at the top of the right margin read 'how many of each?'

"Nipping over to yours with Livvy to get supplies for a few days, mate. Let me know anything else you need to pick up."

Grinning with appreciation, Nick wrote numbers against all the items and specified 'blue hoodie with white draw string' under 'warm tops'. Then added 'mail, iPad & charger, crossbow & bolt set (under bed)' to the 'sundries' section. Denny was so organised. Must be a military thing, this compulsive need to work with inventories. He watched Denny thunder around, cleaning up. Tidiness: another military thing. Nick knew pretty much jack-all about Denny's army career, other than his captaincy of an IED disposal group. You needed a cool nerve and methodical mind for that. The guy had mellowed to the point of being almost unrecognisable over the last few months, but there were still the odd moments where he was reminded of where Denny had come from, and what he was capable of. Apart from high-speed sock sorting. The big guy was down on his knees, tossing them into little piles.

"What are you doing?" Nick asked eventually.

"The sock amnesty."

"Socks need an amnesty?"

"Yeah. We've decided that socks are a silly thing to bicker over, so after every three or four washes, we both round up all our socks and lay them out on the floor. Then, separately, I'll round up my 15s — that's US size, by the way — and Jan collects his 17s, and there's no arguments about post-wash sock theft. But there's always three left over. God knows how."

Livvy met Nick's gaze wonderingly. "Ok, this isn't an issue that Nick and I have. It's easy to tell an ancient, grey 11 from a new lilac 9½. Can't you label them, or something?"

"Life is too short to label socks." Denny hopped up onto his feet with armful of sock bundles and bounced up the stairs with them, returning a moment later with car keys. He paused briefly to put Nick's iphone on the couch next to him, along with the remote controls to DVD player and TV, then nodded cheerfully at the door. "Nick, Stefan's looking after Carrie, so just chill out for a bit. Ready, Livs?"

"Yep!"

She didn't let him lift her this time, and he hovered anxiously as she leant heavily on one crutch. Nick just caught the beginning of a lecture about the importance of keeping the sodding weight off the shin, then the door closed behind them. He sighed and sank back into the couch, determined to make the most of his one or two days of slumping. He closed his eyes for a few minutes, trying to separate the last dregs of his dreams from what Freya had actually told him. Because his overnight mind had created warfare between his parents, which wasn't true. They'd remained together until he was 12 and if there were seven years of resentful tension in the air, he was sure he would remember it. Maybe they'd healed their rift after Freya had gone?

Nick heard Carianne howling upstairs, and stood to go check on her before remembering that she was with Stefan. He relaxed again. And texted Monroe.

_Heard Wilkes found you yesterday. Hope you, Rosie and Bru are ok._

A response came back within less than a minute. _BRU?! He's a baby, not a beer! Will email gooey pictures later. We're good, thanks. Am tired but no longer leafy/bloody/itchy/naked. Hope your leg is ok. _

Nick blinked and thumbed back. _That sounds like a story!?_

_Yeah! One that I'm not telling you. Bigger issues right now ― Oma and Opa (that's grandparents to you) want to inspect baby, like… straight away._

_Is that bad news?_

There was a careful pause from Monroe's end. _Hopefully not. Had to pretend that I had contagious disease to 'encourage' them to stay away a couple of weeks_

Nick hoped that worked. _Good luck with that. When can I visit?_

_Uh… couple of days? Maybe tomorrow? I'll ask Rosie._

Carianne was still howling. Nick frowned and yelled up at Stefan. No reply. He hopped off the couch and climbed about four steps up the stairs when Stefan dashed into Carrie's room and swept her up. Nick reclaimed his place on the couch and a few moments later, Stefan trotted down and nearly stumbled over in an attempt to avoid his plaster while pushing past the coffee table. Nick shot a hand out to steady him, noticing the white face and the purple smudges under Stef's eyes.

"Sorry… I wasn't really on the ball."

Nick held his hands out firmly, more as an instruction than an offer. "I'll take her for a moment."

"Thanks."

Stef closed his eyes and let out a long breath, making Nick think of serious migraine. He held back from commenting for a few minutes. At least until the guy got himself together a little. Carrie tried out a new trick, climbing up his head and balancing on top, and just as Nick was steadying her, his cellphone rang. Hank.

"Hey Nick, you ok? Survive your lion ride alright?"

"Yeah. A little worn out and in plaster, but... I'm ok. Where are you?"

"I crashed out at Wu's. _Never_ let me do competitive drinking with Livvy again. I think you need to come round. I'm calling from the store round the corner… just getting milk and a paper for him. Listen, when I woke up this morning, he was going through a whole bunch of scrap books looking like he hadn't slept, and he opened a bottle of JD _this morning_. I think he's actually more drunk now than last night. I'm happy to come pick you up, of course."

Nick grimaced. It would be dumb to think that there would be no aftershock from yesterday. "Ok... so... you going to sober him up first, or...?"

"I'll do my damndest, but if you could have a talk with him, Grimm to man, that'd help."

Nick glanced across at Stefan. He'd regained some of his colour but still looked unfocussed. "I'll give you a buzz as soon as Jan gets back."

"Appreciate it, man. Later."

"You don't have to wait till Jan gets back," Stef mumbled as Nick hung up.

"I think I do."

"I'm fine."

Nick laughed disbelievingly. "Bullshit! When was the last time you slept?"

Stef wiped his face with the heels of his hands.

Nick realised that Stefan wasn't going to volunteer anything. "Ok, so it's private. But since your coordination's off and you're clearly exhausted, there's no way I'm leaving you alone with Carianne. No offence."

"None taken." The guy stood, pressing up heavily from the arm of the couch. "Coffee?"

"Yeah. Where's Theo?"

"Still sleeping. He had a long day yesterday."

Nick watched Stefan walk off to the kitchen to make it, moving like someone 30 years older who was determined to keep himself busy. He looked like someone walking around with his mind in a cage: someone who'd seen something he shouldn't. His lost, glazed expression reminded him of Hank's after seeing Brinkerhoff's dying shift back to human. He still felt bad about not telling Hank about wesen earlier. Nick hoped Wu wasn't looking like that right now.

But Stefan was Koninglowen, like his brother. Well, at least half Koninglowen. And he was a Navy guy. Even the nastiest of wesen shouldn't faze him much. What the hell could terrorise him like that?

**X x X**

Denny felt under Nick's bed gingerly, hoping that nothing was going to go off in his face if he pressed the wrong wire, and hoping even more that he didn't come across any nasty forgotten pairs of boxers. He closed his fingers round the crossbow handle, pulled it out, and saw the outline of the bolt box just behind where the bow had been. He reached for it, shoved the last of Nick's clothes into a hold-all and rejoined Livvy in the sitting room.

"You all done, love?"

"Yep, got everything, I think. Just grabbed the mail." She held a batch of envelopes by the corner and tapped them against her palm, looking troubled.

"What's up? Bills?"

"Oh, there's always bills. No. I just don't want to give Nick this one."

She held up an envelope in very feminine handwriting, postmarked from Austria. Vienna, to be exact. Denny met Livvy's eyes and groaned.

"Oh... bollocks."

"It might be good news. It might be 'hey! I remember you! I'm over my Sean-obsession! I want you back!'"

"That's a good thing, is it?" Denny muttered. He and Jan had rather different views on this particular topic. Jan was in camp reconciliation, as was fairly predictable. Denny felt that Nick needed to move on, however nice Juliette was, or blameless she may be in this whole cat-induced-amnesiac-coma saga. There was a lot of Nick still invested in her. There were still some songs which would make him walk off for 'air' halfway through, pretending that nothing was wrong.

"And if it's not great news, we can't do anything about it, you know," Livvy said quietly. "Just be there to..."

"Yeah, I know," he grunted. "But I don't want to pick up any pieces. He's just started gluing himself back together, poor sod. Alright, let's get going. One stop-off first... I'll get him some cheapo jeans from the factory outlet. He can cut the lower legs of those to fit his boot without ruining all his 'proper' stuff." Denny got her down the stairs and to the door of the Spyder, then suddenly realised Livvy was leaping up and down next to him between her crutches and trying to grab his shoulder. "What are you doing?"

"Trying to peck you on the cheek! What did you think? Pogo practice? Bend down a little, would you?"

He grinned and ducked into range. He was duly pecked. "So what's this random smooch a reward for?"

"For looking after Nick."

No excuse too thin, Denny thought with an inner chuckle as he opened the door for her. After a few minutes of driving, he thought it was a good a moment as any to gently steer her towards someone who did genuinely seem to like her. _In that way. _

"Um... Livs...I don't know if you've noticed, but Stefan's been casting a few keen glances in your general direction."

"No!" she yelled.

"Alright! Just a suggestion!"

She sat up straight and glared out of the window. "Thanks, but no."

"What's wrong with him? He's very gentlemanly. Very... easy on the eye. Doesn't need to bend down a whole foot and a half to give you a snog—"

"He's a Neanderthal pest who lugs me around."

That seemed harsh, considering that Stefan had only hauled her away because she was trying to assist in a wesen war, armed only with deodorant. "He's not a pest!"

"Fine! There's nothing specifically _wrong_ with him."

"So what's the issue?"

"He's not a gorgeous, grumbly ogre with permanent stubble," Livvy rattled out, then her eyes went wide. She yanked her gaze away and picked at a hole in her jeans, her face flaming red. She gave her kneecap some serious scrutiny for a few moments, radiating the heat of embarrassment. Her eyes looked dangerously moist. Shit.

Denny focussed on the road for a minute. He wasn't about to point out that not only was he gay but there was only one person he really wanted, because that would be an insult. She knew all that. And she was just a blurter. It wasn't like she was making an active play for him.

"I'm sorry," she muttered eventually. "I have this talent for creating atmospheres."

"Foot-in-mouth syndrome is what we call it." He smiled over at her but she was gazing fixedly at her knee, still. So he reached over and put his hand on hers.

"Livs... About limiting yourself to gorgeous grumbly ogres… I think you're being a bit fussy."

She burst out laughing, which was exactly what he was hoping for, so he bounced his eyebrows at her.

"I mean, high standards are a good thing, in moderation, and I realise that there's no end to my personal charm―"

"—There's no beginning to your modesty, that's for sure." She wiped her face and pointed at the road. "Just drive!"

Denny exhaled in deep relief and made his way towards the parking garage, the tension in the car properly broken. He thought about that envelope for a moment, then chose not to let it cross his mind again until Nick actually opened it. He couldn't do anything about it until then, anyway.

**X x X**

Jan climbed back into the Toyota and adjusted his rear-view mirror, frowning slightly at the total lack of change in his image. The cut was good... except that Freya had looked at Nick's picture, commented on his artistry skills, then put it neatly to one side and completely ignored it. His attempts to guide her back to the cut he'd actually asked for were expertly dodged at every turn, and he ended up with exactly the same style that he'd had before getting it cut 'short' in the first place. Sighing, he adjusted the mirror back so that he could actually see the road behind the jeep and put it into drive. He was almost back home when Renard rang and he picked up the call through the car speakers.

"Morning, Sean."

"I notice that my calendar's been updated this morning. Some sort of neighbourhood watch event on Thursday night?"

Jan smirked. "If you don't mind spreading the liaison load a little, of course. It's Theo's parent's night at the nursery, so I can't go. And I think these community groups are important. Don't you?"

"Of course. But if you're going to add that to my calendar, I'd like to ask for a swap on something else. I was supposed to be joining the other Captains for the Pride of Portland bravery awards and public safety talk at Brockman Gardens on Saturday, but I'd rather not."

"Why are bravery awards being given at a Botanical Centre?"

"They have a decorative orangery. They rent it out as a conference suite."

Jan shrugged. "Alright, I'm happy to do that one. Why your lack of enthusiasm?"

"Because I've done the awards a few times there and the Professor of Legume Biology is a very persistent lady. And we both know you're better socially equipped than I am to withstand protracted... flirting."

He chuckled. "Should I take Denny for protection?"

"It might be wise. But I'm not sure he'd be safe, either."

There was a long pause while Jan wondered whether Sean had finished what he had to say, or not. But there was something ponderous about the quiet. Jan focussed on shifting to the correct lane for his exit, then when he'd manoeuvred safely, cleared his throat. "Was there anything else?"

"Yes, tell Stefan that I've set up an encrypted email address for him and that I'll send you the log-in details under separate cover. Probably via Denny. Please ask him to leave all and any documents in draft and I'll pick them up from there. I don't want any information transmitted through that account."

That sounded disturbing. "Are you now seriously worried about being watched?"

"After yesterday, I'd be foolish not to be as careful as possible. I've got a good idea of who's behind all of this."

"True. I'm setting up the summit for next Sunday. Was there any particular reason why you don't want to use the lodge?"

"It's currently a place of safety. I'd rather it remained that way."

"Fine, I'll find somewhere random and anonymous."

"Jan… have you spoken to your brother about what happened to him? On the boat?"

The question was unexpected, but Jan was actually a little touched that Sean asked. And at the same time, very concerned. Stefan was usually much better at keeping up a front when something was wrong, so if others felt the need to comment on the haunted expression he had when he thought no one was looking, then this 'something' was clearly more than he could handle. "I've tried. I'll keep trying. I know he's not himself."

"He has a... look in his eyes."

"I know."

"He might have something important to tell us."

"I'll do what I can," Jan promised, but didn't hold out too much hope. He wanted to help Renard _and_ Stefan, but putting pressure on Stef would get them nowhere.

**X x X**

Nick didn't remember feeling tired enough to drop off, but clearly he had because he woke with a start, the fleeting visions of his parents rowing furiously over his head dissipating slowly into garbled darkness in the back of his head. It took him a moment to get his bearings, but as he straightened up on the couch, he saw Theo cheerfully and inexpertly painting his plaster four different shades of eye-searing neon paint, filling in irregular shapes drawn with a shiny, permanent-looking pen. There was newspaper between his leg and the couch, he was relieved to see.

"Hey Nick!"

"Hey, Theo. Don't try this with Livvy's plaster, ok? She'll get you with her perfume or something." God, that paint was _loud_. "That does come off, right?"

"I don't think so. I'll be very careful with my edges, I promise."

As the kid bent over with his brush, colouring in intently, Stefan was fighting with Carrie to give her her bottle. She took advantage of the fact that he had no hands free to alternate sticking a foot in her mouth with a fist in her mouth, and Stefan couldn't get the bottle teat in there quick enough between removing bodily obstacles. Nick chuckled.

"Hold her legs down with your wrists, hook her fist out of her mouth with your thumb, then get the bottle in while you can."

Stefan tried it and sighed with relief as she gurgled mischievously at him from round the bottle teat and started drinking. "Eindelijk, schatje."

Nick raised his brows for a translation.

"Literally, _'finally, darling!'"_

He looked a little better, Nick thought. Maybe he'd just had a really bad night. He was about to ask how he was doing, when the door slammed open and Denny dragged two cases in. He was shortly followed by Livvy. Then Jan, whose hair looked spookily similar to the style he'd had for about six years running.

Stefan chuckled at his big brother. "Whole new style, Jan?

"Don't get me started. Freya's a law unto herself."

While everyone was clattering around with luggage and coffee cups, Theo and Jan sharing out the milk at the kitchen table, Nick took a moment to text Hank to let him know that he was good for a pick-up.

"Tea?" Denny demanded from over the back of the couch.

"Thanks."

"Anna Biccy?"

"Huh?"

"Do you also want a biscuit?" Denny translated wearily.

"Please, yeah." He'd learnt to shove his politeness words in at every turn where Denny was concerned because for all his London roughness, he was big on his manners … and Den's 'light' clips round the ear were amazingly painful, even if Nick pretended that he didn't really feel them.

Livvy plumped herself down on the couch next to him. RIGHT next to him, as if they were sharing an armchair. Then she grabbed his hand and bounced it up and down on the leather like it was a stressball.

He raised his brows at her. "You ok? Feeling a bit lost, or something?"

"I'm fine. Absolutely fine. Perfect. Howareyou?"

He _was_ fine before she started acting like a sweetly-concerned lunatic, waving a bunch of bills in one hand while grinding his knuckles with the other. "Livs. What is it?"

"Nick, I―"

"Oh for God's SAKE!" Denny thundered in the background, making them both jump, and they turned to see him shaking crumbs out of an empty cookie barrel before giving Theo a fairly accusing look. "There are NO biscuits left."

Theo threw his hands up helplessly. "Alas!"

"Don't you 'alas' me, son! A vampire swooping in, stealing the cookies and dropping them carelessly into a canyon would be an 'alas' moment, but when you're the cheeky muffin responsible for scoffing the lot―"

"I wasn't!"

Theo scuttled round to the back of the couch and Nick let him climb up and sit on him. Siegbarste rants were a thing to behold, and Denny was quite difficult to stop once he'd got started. Theo didn't seem at all scared, but more fascinated to see how annoyed Denny was going to get about... cookies. But he wanted to be curious from a safe distance, which Nick could understand.

Jan scratched the back of his head sheepishly. "Ah… Denny―"

"I BOUGHT THOSE TWO DAYS AGO! THERE'S NOT ONE BITTY LITTLE CRUMB LEFT!"

"Den..."

"Nothing sweet is safe around here! All the interesting bits in the cereal seem to get sieved out before I've had a single bowlful, I can't leave a chocolate bar unattended without an armed guard, and now―"

"DEN! I'm sorry!"

Nick watched Den's face slide from wild Siegbarste irritation to an expression of flinty disapproval.

"You ate all my biscuits? _All_ of them?"

"18 of 20, probably. I was hungry. Sorry."

"You greedy sod!"

Jan pulled an apologetic face. "Like I say―"

"You're not eating enough again, are you?"

"It seems not. Hence I ate all the biscuits."

"Nick?" Den barked, "How was Jan after his full woge?"

He really didn't want to get into the middle of all this, but having seen the guy slump at the wheel… he felt Denny ought to know. "Total wipe-out. Sorry Jan."

Den marched over to the couch, gave Theo's head an apologetic ruffle, then headed for the door, yanking it open. "You, Jan, are going to have a blood test the moment Hilde and Warwick get back from Africa. And if there is _any_ more sugar-fiending... I'll... I'll... I'll GAH!"

Denny slammed out, and through the front window they saw him stomp down Jan's path, muttering darkly, up the neighbour's path, still muttering darkly, then he held an animated, muffled conversation with a little girl, who looked completely outraged at Denny's cookie theft.

Nick looked over at Jan. "What's he doing?"

"Probably getting me blacklisted from Shelley's cookie client list. For at least two weeks."

"Sorry. Didn't mean to throw you under a bus back there."

"It's alright. He'll stop ranting in ... " Jan consulted his watch, "Twenty seven minutes. I'll live."

Hank got out of his car at the bottom of the drive and fell into step with Denny as he returned to the house. Nick reached for his crutches and then noticed the pile of envelopes Livvy was holding. Just before she tried to slide them discreetly under a cushion, Nick's eyes homed in on the very recognisable, sloping '_rdt_' peeking out along the right margin underneath the bill on top.

His name, in Juliette's handwriting. He felt his pulse drum a rapid tattoo in his neck, and not necessarily with excitement. He held his hand out for the stack. Ridiculously, she tried making them look invisible.

"Livs, I'm only interested in Juliette's letter."

He put his hand out for it and she gave it up, really miserably.

Nick turned it over in his hands a few times. He was surprised to find himself shaking. He didn't think he'd see anything in that writing addressed to him again. He thought he'd be desperate to know what she had to say. And now he had the envelope in his hand, he didn't want to open it. He glanced over at Hank, who shrugged hopelessly. Denny had his face buried in his hand. Even Jan desisted from his usual 'perhaps just see what she has to say.'

Nick met Hank's eyes again. "How's Wu?"

"Not great."

That made up his mind. Although he understood why, she'd taken off without a word just as he thought they'd started to connect again, so he didn't feel the need to rip the letter open straight away. Wu needed him more, right now. Bad time to read it. Nick passed it to Jan and cleared his throat as they all looked at him quietly.

"Guys… I know I've made Juliette as much a part of your lives as mine over the last months, and you probably never want to hear her name again, but … I hope no one thinks I'm being… annoying… if I put that letter off for a little while."

There was an immediate, unified chorus of "No's" that were so assertively voiced that it nearly made him smile.

"Thanks. Let's go, Hank."

**X x X**

Hank looked over at Nick in the shotgun seat and watched him chewing a nail as he stared out of the window. "Man, you gotta stop doing that. One of these days, you'll start on the actual finger, and that's your crossbow days over, I promise you."

Nick stopped listlessly. "Alright."

"Seeing the letter? That was sucky timing." Hank glanced sideways to see how Nick took this poke into the centre of the sensitive subject.

"Tell me about it."

"That was sucky timing, 'sucky' being defined as―"

Nick chuckled. "You can be a wiseass sometimes, you know that?"

"It's the gift of Lieutenancy, my friend." Hank exhaled cheerfully, hoping that some of his lightness would rub off on Nick. "Lieutenant Griffin. Saying that hasn't gotten old yet."

"It won't for a while, I guess." Nick seemed to wake himself up a little. "Ok, so how sober was Wu when you left him?"

"I made him some of Nadine's tomato soup. That should wake him up."

"Is that the one with the tablespoon of tabasco sauce?"

"Damn, your memory's good."

"Well, you made me try it, Hank. It burnt me _twice_. Once on the way in, and again on―"

"―TMI, Nick. TMI!" He laughed, Nick wound down a little, and he was back to his usual bouncy self on their way up to Wu's apartment.

Wu was still on his back on the couch, squirting aerosol cream into his mouth to cool off and shot him a seriously dark look as he showed Nick in. He saw Nick's bemused expression as he looked round the front room: the place was a wreck. Wu did not do wrecks. He did order, tidiness, and unspilled bowls of water for Samson. Samson sat on Wu's chest, offering him his butt, and pounding Wu with his tail for his neglect.

Hank found Samson's bowl and poured a little milk into it while Nick perched himself precariously at the end of the couch.

"Uh… What happened here? Because this looks like freak-out territory."

"Hey, Nick! _You, _I'm talking to. It's nice to see you. And your colourful leg. Mr Evil-soup here, I'm _not _talking to, apart from to ask whether you got today's paper?"

Hank passed it over and Wu laid the paper out on his lap, leafing through at inhuman speed, like he knew exactly what he was looking for. Then his eyes widened in confirmation of... something... and he handed Nick the paper, pointing erratically at the centre of the page.

"This guy," Wu slurred, "was one of the very, very many people to put a 911 call in yesterday, but his query went into the 'crackpot-follow-up' list. He wanted to know, urgently, if there had been any zoo break-outs. "

Nick frowned. "Despatch has a crackpot list?"

"Not officially, but when you prioritise 'I'm being burgled by a teenager' against 'I'm being painted with egg by an alien', who do you think gets the first response? Especially on a completely insane day like yesterday?"

"Ok. So... what do you want me to do with this article?"

"Make paper planes with it, Nick. Read it! out loud!"

Hank was proud of Nick for holding his tongue at the uncharacteristically sharp tone. The first paragraph was just self-indulgent crap, as all Arno William's columns were, and he didn't really take that in, but woke up pretty quickly as Nick's voice starting rising with alarm.

"So, a great many of my continuous followers will know that I've been in search of inner peace, and that my meditative therapist's latest recommendation was a period in silence, far from the madding crowd, where the only beings around would either be other hikers passing by, or the figments of my own imagination. Since I happen to own camping gear, I went into the woods for the weekend. My weekend started and ended yesterday, with the sighting of a wild beast in the woods, leaving me in a state of total shock."

Nick winced. "He didn't see Monroe, did he?"

"Reaaad on."

Hank cleared a corner of the coffee table and hunkered down on it.

"What I saw was a man on the back of a lion, clinging on for dear life, screaming inventive invective and rocketing past my tent at an approximate land-speed of forty miles an hour." Nick took a hand from the paper and face-palmed. "Oh shit."

Hank sighed heavily. "Damn."

"It goes on," Wu warned. Nick held the paper back up unenthusiastically.

"For the first ten minutes of re-packing all my stuff, I blamed my imagination, but then realised that this wasn't fair. I'm on good terms with my imagination and happen to trust it. I'm pretty sure that my imagination would've summoned a gold-maned, _lion-sized_ lion rather than something that could probably tip a truck over, and I'd never even _heard_ some of the invective that the lion's passenger came out with. So what I saw was real. And I begin to question the wisdom of staying in Portland..."

As Nick trailed off with the article, Hank met Wu's troubled gaze with a cold feeling in his gut. "You're not leaving, are you?"

"No. Well... no plans to. Yet. I want to see where things go with Mariam, but if that doesn't happen, I might even think about it."

"Wu, you can't! You're like..." Nick scrabbled for words, "You're like part of the landscape!"

"So why do I feel like an ignorant blot on the landscape?"

"You're not, man. Seriously."

"Really? See all this scrap book mayhem? I've known something was weird was up for a while. Now it seems like every other person in Portland is hiding something."

"Every third person. Portland has a specially huge wesen population."

Great job with the reassurance, Nick. Hank groaned inwardly as Wu dipped his face down into his hands and whined slightly. But then he emerged, looking a lot more like his usual stoic self, and slurring a whole lot less.

"Guys, this is what worries me. It's like Portland's a gathering point. Is there going to be some kind of war? Because if there is, I want out before it happens. As a cop, I can't DO anything about wesen. Those kids yesterday were inhumanly strong. Is that what I'm going to have to keep dealing with while making arrests?"

Hank totally got that particular concern. Some wesen were just plain hard to bring down. Like Stark. "I know you can't always tell, Nick, but some of those Blutbaden went to full woge yesterday. Thank god they weren't Alphas, like Monroe."

"Monroe turns into a wolf?"

"Like Jan can turn into a lion, yeah. But Monroe has to be furious or really stressed for that to happen, because it brings out his carnivorous side and he doesn't feel he can control it. Most of the time he looks like a normal Blutbad when he woges."

Wu frowned. "Jan wasn't furious or stressed yesterday, and he went all Aslan on me."

"He can choose to woge. Besides, Jan doesn't have a carnivorous side."

Hank remembered what Denny had told him outside the hospital all those months ago, while Jan was recovering from what should've been — and nearly was — a lethal attack, if it hadn't been for Denny. Talking to him about his save, Denny muttered something about being really reluctant to let a Patriarch die on his office floor, which Hank since considered a cover for Denny suffering from love at first sight. Hank still didn't know what a Patriarch was supposed to be, but it was a significant part of Jan. He stuck up his hand to speak like a kid in class.

"Jan's as carnivorous as they come, but he's not JUST a Koninglowen, is he? He's something else as well. Something that balances him."

Nick grinned wryly. "Yeah. He's a pacifist."

"He's a Patriarch." Hank looked meaningfully at Nick, who just gazed back, seemingly waiting for him to go on. So, the Grimm seriously didn't know what a Patriarch was. Fair play. Denny did say that they were just supposed to be legends. And Nick had a hell of a lot of reading to get through on life-threatening wesen before moving onto the topic of ancient history. Still. He might have to have a word with Denny. Get him to fill Nick in.

"Patriarch?" Wu laughed. "You've got that right. He had a hand in half the voluntary organisations in Portland before he went back to the Netherlands. He was the only guy ever to have a prostitute crying at his leaving do."

"Anyway, Patriarch or not, Jan asked me to make a point of telling you that Mariam's not wesen. If your girlfriend's not going to woge when someone's pointing a knife at her, she's not going to woge at all."

Wu flopped back on the couch in relief. "Oh... Thank God. This may sound a little narrow-minded since half your friends seem to be wesen these days, but I can't begin to tell you how happy I am about that."

"You've been seeing her few weeks. I can't believe you didn't just ask," Nick pointed out.

"And how do I do that? Say 'hey, about my girlfriend, she's not furry underneath or anything like your other friends, is she?'"

"Why change the habit of a lifetime?"

Hank laughed and got up to put the JD away and start clearing up some of the scrapbook wreckage. "If I'm honest, that's pretty much exactly what I was waiting for you to do."

"You can just ask us stuff, you know? And now that you're aware, it'll be a damn sight easier for me to give you the heads-up on any potential dangerous wesen we need to handle."

"And if you need a little space to do stuff off the books? You're going to be straight with me about that, right?"

Nick nodded reluctantly. "That should be easier to manage with Renard giving us all cover, but some stuff I still need to be covert about. There are some wesen, like Stark, that will still need 'excessive force' to bring down."

"We'll just have to keep watching each others' backs, like we've always done," Hank put in, trying to keep things normal. "We'll be fine. You can get your head around it eventually, don't worry."

"We're all going to have to be a little covert," Wu said. "Wilkes doesn't miss much. Oh, by the way, what is Renard?"

The suddenness of the question threw both him and Nick, who looked like a deer caught in the headlights. Hank indicated his support by gathering up all the late-night food crap and running into the kitchen with it.

"Hank! Get back here!"

"No way, man!"

"Thanks!"

Hank stuck close enough to keep track of the conversation, putting stuff away quietly so he could still hear. Wu didn't sound stressed any more. More... stubborn. This was a good thing.

"Is he something really bad? I mean, I don't want his life history because he said he'd fill me in on all that, but how does he look? Is he grim? forgive the pun."

"No... no... "

"Unconvincing!"

"Ok, yeah. He's a witch's son, and not an attractive woger."

"Right. A witch's son." Wu hummed nervously. "Assimilating information... gargling with it... damn. Still struggling with it. Ok, so how does a witch's son look?"

"Has he not gone through this with you already? Because I don't really want to—"

Wu started pacing. "I do not plead, so I'm just going to explain this once, alright? I have an image to maintain. I've worked hard on my emotionless veneer for about... eight years now—"

Nick burst out laughing. "Veneer?"

"Try 'wall'!" Hank agreed from the kitchen.

"So I'm a little defensive. Sue me. Anyway, when Renard woges, I do NOT want to react. I want him to kick himself around the all the parks in Portland for not coming clean to me years and years ago. I want to blink, fold my arms, and between now and then, I'll be rehearsing my pithy comments for the very moment of his transformation. But I can't do that if what I see scares the crap out of me. So. What does he look like?"

Nick sighed. "Got a pad and pen?"

Hank leant against the doorjamb of the kitchen, not sure whether this was a good idea or not, but the sketch was already underway and Nick worked fast. Wu looked over his shoulder, looking more and more appalled. Eventually Nick put the pen down and passed the pad back. Wu paled.

"You alright, man?"

"No! Jesus. He looks like half a picture of Dorian Grey."

Nick rolled his eyes. "This is why wesen keep themselves secret, you know?"

"Yeah, yeah. Now you're going to tell me off for being shallow. It's not what he looks like that bothers me so much. It's more that Renard can't just be straight with me."

Hank couldn't imagine Renard trying to describe what he looked like to anyone. It wasn't nice. He'd asked for a quick flash, got it, and couldn't get that movie 'dawn of the dead' out of his head for the next three nights. "What, he said he was handsome, or something?"

"No, I asked him if he was icky, and he clearly fricking IS—"

Nick burst out laughing and yanked his hoodie over his head. "You didn't?"

Hank was immensely tickled at the mental image of Renard reacting to that particular question. "How did he take that?"

"Some glaring took place," Wu admitted. Then crumpled up the picture. "Thanks for doing that. We didn't have this conversation, of course. Your necks will remain unwringed."

"Good," Hank chuckled, but Nick had nothing to add. He was still laughing.

**X x X**

Wu's 'Wu' approach to the mystery of Renard kept Nick lifted on the way home, through the later afternoon and right up until Jan started getting the kids ready to go out for dinner with Denny. Juliette's letter sat on the little key table under the stairs. It was a nice thought: clearing the house out for him so he could have privacy if he chose to read it, but without having to go anywhere to be alone.

Almost alone. Livvy was a little wiped out and sat next to Stefan on the couch. He had his hand up, scratching the back of his head indecisively like all guys everywhere who weren't sure whether they'd get a snuggle or a smack in the face if they ventured an arm across the shoulders. Denny walked past the back of the couch and firmly deposited Stef's arm along the cushion. What the hell was he doing? Playing cupid? Livvy had a hundred and one issues to settle after Graham, not least her feelings for Denny. He was about to discreetly go right over there and bend Stef's arm back where it came from when Livvy looked up at her couch mate sternly and he retracted his limb with a sheepish grin.

"I'll just... go out for dinner with the guys."

"Later!" Nick and Livvy chirped together, and as the Vergeer tribe departed, had a quick crutch fight getting to the best spot on the couch before Nick collapsed on his back on it. Livvy shovelled his legs out of the way with her hands, making room.

"Hey! There's an armchair as well!" he protested, putting them back up.

"The couch is already warm. Budge up."

"No! I want to stretch out!"

"So do I!" She crashed down on top of him, making him yelp as her plaster slammed his good shin. "Sorry."

"So full of elegance, and grace..."

"Ah, shut it."

He got as comfortable as he could, glad that she wasn't particularly heavy, and she settled along the back cushion of the couch, her head on his shoulder. They didn't say anything for a really long time. Eventually she drummed her fingers on his chest.

"Are you going to open that letter?"

"I don't know if I want to. Yet."

"Want me to read it to you?"

He smiled down at Livvy and squeezed his arm across her shoulders. It was a nice offer. But one very important girl voicing the feelings of another very important girl's words, he was pretty sure, would be emotional-vortex material.

"That's a no, then."

"It's a no. But thanks."

"What are you most worried about?"

That was the 64-thousand dollar question. "I'm not sure I can put my finger on it," he started. "There are so many different scenarios that I..."

He couldn't finish the sentence, but the one scenario he couldn't let go of was of her still not remembering him at all, while still being unable to get Renard out of her head. He dreaded her saying that she was staying in Europe for good. Sean seemed to be coping with his half of the obsession alright. Maybe it was just the distance that was helping.

"Nick?" Livvy said quietly, "If you can't put it into words, you're not ready to think about it too much. Figure it out tomorrow. Or the day after, if you need to."

"And right now? What do I do right now?"

"Go to sleep."

Nick chuckled. "With you on top of me?"

"The de-oxygenation will help you drop off. Stop moaning. Anyway, I'm too comfortable to move."

: : : : :

The de-oxygenation must've worked pretty quickly, because when Nick woke to the sound of harsh breathing it was dark. "Livs? You alright?"

It wasn't her harsh breathing. She was muttering under her breath. He shook her and and she stirred irritably.

"I was just having a really, really nice—"

"Shh!"

A low growl rumbled through the ground floor and Nick held Livvy's weight as she slid off him as silently as possible. They both grabbed a crutch, and the clatter made it blatantly obvious that they were awake. The growl repeated, louder.

"Jan?" Nick asked quietly, and sat, pushing himself upright. No, Jan's growl was deeper. It resonated more. "Stefan?"

Stef came into view, stumbling round the back of the couch, half-woged, teeth and mane in full view through the outdoor light filtering through the window. Nick got up, ready to leap on him for scaring him shitless, then realised that Stef was stumbling backwards, trying to get away from something. He followed Stef's line of sight, getting up properly in case there was an intruder, but there was no-one there. The growl escalated as Nick waved Livvy frantically away and he got in front of Stefan, waving his arms.

"Here!"

Stef's leonine eyes locked on his, flashing in the darkness, and then he literally went wild.

**X x X**

_**TBC…. Nick faces the letter… and the art of one-up-manship…**_


	11. Blasts from the Past

**And here's the update, folks! Thanks for the awesome reviews on chapter 10. I really appreciate them! I hope you like the continuance… **

**Some people get resolution… others, confusion….**

**But the plot thickens, lol. **

**Hugs, cuddles, cookies etc!**

**X x X**

Stef's change happened so fast it made Nick's head spin. With the half-woge already in place, Stefan's shoulders broadened, he developed his pelt, and the black mane lengthened. But he wasn't fully lion, either: it was more like a three-quarter woge, erasing Stefan's humanity. Nick backed up a little as a guttural rumble filled the air between them, which rose to a roar. There was no human recognition at all in the predatory leonine stare. Livvy had scrabbled out from between the couch and the coffee table, and Nick pulled her behind him. She was still a lot weaker on her leg than he was.

"Get upstairs, Livvy," he said quietly. "Slowly. Go behind me, creep up—"

"No! I'm not leaving you!"

Carianne burst into noisy crying upstairs and the sound was like a punch to Stefan's head: he roared again, putting his arms up to his face, confused and swaying. The crying escalated quickly in volume and Nick heard Denny and Jan stampede into her room. As the crying abruptly stopped, Stef seemed to recover himself and lunged for the stairs. Nick swung the crutch, catching Stef on the side of the neck. If the guy felt it, he showed no sign of it: Nick barely had time to dip his body back by the shoulder to avoid the wild returning swipe at his neck, and then lost his balance. He crashed down on the bottom of the stairs and Stef lunged forward, climbing over him, snarling. Where the fuck were the guys?

"Uncle Stef?" a little voice said from the upper landing.

Nick's blood went cold as Stef flinched fiercely then directed his gaze up the stairwell, uttering a deep, threatening rumble. Nick tried to get a grip on him. "Theo! Get in a room and lock it!"

Denny appeared, snatching Theo to safety as Nick wrapped his arms hard around Stef's waist and clung on. Stef was strong enough to pull him halfway up the stairwell with him and rapidly tugged his way out of his grip. His pelt was too short to grasp so, taking a huge gamble, Nick wrapped his legs up around Stef's hips, making him scrabble for purchase on the edge of the steps, then released his arms long enough to push Stef backwards. They both rolled and tumbled down the stairs but by a miracle, he landed on top of Stef rather than underneath and managed to hold him down, glaring down into the furious leonine gaze. There was a still second as their gazes locked, Nick's eyes feeling hot.

Then Stef went crazy, fluxing from lowen to human and back again, trying to scrabble out from underneath. Nick lost his grip for a fraction of a second and found himself flying backwards across the room. He hit hard on his left side but groped his way back over, horrified to see Livvy on the bottom of the stairs on guard duty.

Stef paced in front of her, but didn't attack.

And didn't appear to be looking directly at her, either. Wondering if the bewildered koninglowen was actually sleep-walking, Nick approached slowly on his knees, hands up, making himself small to bypass Stef's predatory response. He got within a couple of feet when Stefan swiped at him again, barely missing again, and then suddenly he had back-up. Jan, fully human, leapt over the balluster from the first floor, landed lightly at the bottom of the stairs and grabbed his brother.

Nick backed off hastily as they got into a scrabbling match. Jan seized Stefan from behind, closed his hands around what passed for Stef's 'wrists' and folded his arms across his chest, keeping them in an iron grip as he pressed them both down to the floor. Stef thrashed wildly with his legs, trying to escape from his human straitjacket, but couldn't break free. Jan talked quietly and continuously to him in Dutch as he slowly lost the will to fight, and then stopped moving altogether.

Jan, Nick and Livvy blew out a chorused sigh of relief. Jan gave his brother a little shake, but he was out, for now. Nick wasn't surprised. He'd lost count of the number of times Stef had shifted back and forth from human to wesen, and when he saw the effect that had on Denny…

Nick got his breath back. "He going to be ok?"

"I hope so. You alright, Nick?" Jan asked.

"Yeah. What the fuck was that?"

"Night terror," Denny muttered, heading down the stairs with a box in his hand. "Livs, would you do me a _huge_ favour and watch the smalls for a few minutes? Carrie's shifted back and Theo's proudly on big brother duty, but obviously they're both pretty unsettled."

"Sure." Livvy clambered up the stairs shakily.

Jan looked at Nick steadily. "Sure you're alright? How did you keep him downstairs?"

"I grabbed him. Wasn't easy. What took you so long?"

"I'm sorry. Stef's roar scared the lights out of Carianne and she went to full woge. And then went up the curtains and nearly out of the window. It was a bit of a two-man job retrieving her."

Nick stared. "She went up the _curtains_?"

"She's a rapid woger, by the looks of things. We're going to have troubles with that littl'un." Denny lifted Stef's head and put his fingers to the pulse. "That is way too fast. Nick, would you mind adding to your heroics by turning the light on?"

Nick hobbled over to the switch, not really feeling any pain at all in his lower leg aside from a dull ache. Maybe that was just the adrenaline. But if it stayed this comfortable, he might ditch the crutches altogether. With light flooding the room, he could see that Stef was full short-haired human again, breathing hard, his black thatch sweaty and dishevelled like the rest of him.

Nick helped find the pot of post-woge aloe in Denny's box as they shuffled around with sheets and cushions and sat back as Stefan was laid out flat and the post-woge aloe applied to his forehead and neck. He didn't have any hard feelings: it seemed an involuntary attack. He hadn't gone for Livvy, at least, and she made herself a sitting duck, sitting on that bottom step. "Has he always had night terrors?"

"I don't know."

Nick frowned. "He's your brother."

"We didn't grow up together. He always lived with his mother."

"Oh yeah... half-brother. Sorry."

"What's that?" Denny cut in, stilling Jan's hand as he was about to cover Stef over with a blanket. They all peered at a cluster of angry-looking puncture marks just on the inside of Stef's waist, above his hip. Five of them, evenly spread over about four inches in a loose pentagon shape. Denny pressed lightly round the area, making Stefan jolt.

"They look deep," Nick said. And they were scabbed, like they'd healed, but had since re-inflamed. "What they hell are they from?"

Jan was frowning deeply. "God, I hope that's not—"

"Dunno," Stefan croaked suddenly, lifting his head a little, screwing his face up and dropping back down again. "I don't... even know if it was wesen. And could you guys talk a little quieter?"

Denny stared. "How the fuck are you awake, already?"

"Stefan, what did it look like?" Jan focussed intently on his brother, ignoring Denny's muttered expletives in the background about how the fuck Stefan could've come round so quickly.

"Ah… As a human? Young, black, good-looking. Shifted... one spiky... ugly... fucker."

Nick didn't like the sound of this. And Jan's face suggested that he had an idea of what it might have been.

"Just stay still a moment." Jan took his temperature and read the digital display. "No wonder you went rogue. How long have you been sick, Stef?"

"I went rogue?" Stefan's eyes widened in shock and he sat abruptly, panting hard. "The kids! I ... what did I do? WHAT DID I DO?"

"You didn't," Nick cut in. "It's alright."

Jan passed the thermometer strip to Denny, who stared at it and sprinted straight into the kitchen as Jan pressed his brother back down with some difficulty. "They'll be fine. How long have you been sick? This is important! Did you get anything in your eyes or your mouth? Or in an open cut, or..?"

"I didn't think I was sick. I mean… I was to start with, but…" Stef's hand strayed down to the inflamed area and he winced. "That was healing. I don't get it."

Jan handed Stef a cold compress to put on it and helped him to sit to take the glass of cloudy orange juice that Denny brought back from the kitchen. It had white bits floating in it. Stefan downed the lot before pulling a face.

"Paracetamol. Bit of a nasty taste, sorry, but it should bring your temp down a bit."

"I'm sorry." Stefan raked his hands through his hair. "I should've stayed in the Portland apartment. I'd been having better nights. I thought I was doing ok. I would NEVER hurt the kids. You know that, right?"

Nick noticed extreme tension in Jan's face as he met his brother's eyes, like he desperately wanted to believe it. Or perhaps completely believed it, but couldn't physically override his fear for his children.

"Jan?"

"I know that won't happen in a million years while you're yourself. But I'm worried about those punctures. I'm just going to make a quick call."

Nick stood awkwardly. "You going to wake Monroe?"

"No, I'm going to wake Dr Maier. Rosalee would just call him anyway if she didn't have what we need to help Stef. I'll ask Rosalee to open the Wesen Wellness Centre tomorrow if we need to, but they've been parents for one day. I'll leave them for tonight."

"They're going to be parents tomorrow, as well," Nick countered.

"We just need to get into the place," Denny said. "I can stay there and keep an eye on him for a few days, if it takes that long. EMT training doesn't officially start till next week."

"Thanks." Stef flicked Den a brief smile and closed his eyes for a moment.

As Jan walked off, murmuring apologies into his cell about calling at a filthy hour, Nick sat next to Stefan and tried to get to the bottom of things. "So... what happened? Did it have spiky feet or something and kick you?"

"No... not his feet, his face."

"Dare I ask what his face was doing down... there?" Denny pointed accusingly at the boxer line and Stefan managed a strained laugh.

"We were _fighting_, Mr one-track-mind!"

"Yeah, alright. Just lowering the tone, as usual. Go on, mate."

Nick saw the laughter completely drain out of Stefan's face. "My unit was sent out to a cargo ship with a breached hull, going slowly down by the head. It was initially a medium priority because they were doing well with repairs. We were supposed to be there to help finish stuff off with better kit if possible, and get help with the evacuation if it became necessary. We were there as… back-up. We'd only heard from their engineer twice in two hours, so it all looked pretty straightforward. I only lasted fifty-two minutes on that ship."

Denny put a light hand on his shoulder. "Lose your squad?"

Stefan nodded fiercely and they gave him a few moments to breathe through the moment of memory.

"We were completely decimated. When we boarded, the place was like a ghost ship. Seriously — it was like being sent out to the fucking HMS Marie Celeste. We found the engineer, who didn't seem to think anything weird was going on, but while we looked for passengers and started making repairs, Jack Danson went missing. He was our mechanic. We found him behind a stack of fuel barrels with his arm ripped clean off his body. I'd worked with him five years. I puked on the spot, and then had to shoot some complete fucking maniac who burst out from behind a bunch of storage barrels and tried to strangle me."

Nick frowned, the description ringing bells in his head. All this reminded him of a couple of things: the savage phase of the fluvus pestilential, and as for the spike marks ― a stangebar on board, maybe? He didn't want to think about the other possibility, though Jan's remarks about getting stuff 'in the face' brought it firmly to mind. The cracher mortel. He'd made the mistake of reading about it at two in the morning after downing a bottle of spirits to help him ignore the cold, empty spot on the other side of the double bed. He didn't sleep properly or days after that, seeing all his guys at the precinct going wild on him everytime he'd nodded off for more than a few minutes.

Stefan had paused to drink. "Castaneda disappeared, just two minutes later, and there were screams from the crew room hatchway. I thought 'screw this, the boat's going down'. I turned on the evacuation sirens, got as many of my guys together as possible, recovering one unconscious passenger, and we started off-loading. And then we just got completely overwhelmed. They were on deck, all of them, with red eyes, lunging and just trying to rip us to pieces. I have NEVER come across violence like it.

"I was on my own in the end, apart from Jaco. He was the passenger I found. The engineer sprinted up from lower decks and I was about to help him into our boat, when he attacked me. His eyes bulged, he went from black to... green... and spat. He got my jacket, but not me. And then he tackled me against the railing, hence the ..." Stef indicated his punctures. "I couldn't get up. If it wasn't for Jaco waking himself up and kicking spiky-guy in the head, I wouldn't have gotten away."

"Did the 'engineer' go down with the ship?" Nick asked, and Stefan nodded. Thank God. A drowned Cracher Mortel was the best kind of Cracher Mortel as far as he was concerned.

Jan nodded as he came back into the room. "I think you got a dose of tetrodotoxin poison from your puncture wounds. Were you conscious when you were picked up?"

"No."

"So they might have tried a series of anti-venoms to help you fight it off initially, but you haven't been sleeping, so your immunity's probably crashed. But, there's an antidote. Dr Maier's bringing it."

Stefan looked bewildered and then too tired to keep his eyes open. "Tetro's lethal. How come I'm not dead, or like... the others?"

"The poison's from the spikes of the cracher himself, not from his spit. The spit is the stuff that made the others crazy." Nick met Jan's eyes, and the big guy nodded, looking comparatively relieved. Only comparatively. His kid brother looked like hell. "The Cracher must have a degree of immunity to his own toxins, so maybe what you got is a moderated or watered down dose."

Denny rubbed his temples, looking horrified. "Your whole fuckin' squad. I'm really sorry. Did Jaco survive?"

Stefan shook his head. "He lasted about a half hour, but he'd been slashed in the gut. I couldn't do anything. He gave me a package from a zip-pocket and asked me to send it back to his father. It's addressed. I've been meaning to do that, but… just looking at it makes me..."

"Makes you want to put it off forever," Nick muttered, glancing over at the letter from Juliette, still unopened on the under-stair table. "Yeah, I can understand that."

**X x X**

Monroe spent the morning on the phone and email to all his clients to let them know he was on two months' paternity leave, changed his answerphone message, then drove all three of them over to the spice shop and wellness centre after lunch. He took Bruno into the store with him, giving Rosalee a chance to sleep a little longer, if she wanted. Or just hang out and relax for a while in the back room. Having to sleep in four-hour bouts like a sailor was taking its toll on her a little. As was the threat of the imminent arrival of his family, he guessed. He'd be intimidated in her shoes. He just hoped his Pa behaved. Even if she was his fiancee, his Pa would grab her ass unless discouraged with a softball bat or a hard-swung purse.

He seriously wasn't looking forward to introducing his folks to his new life: Rosalee's wesen type would be the first shock, but he felt they could kind of get their heads around that. She was an apothecary, thus she might be of use to them, sometime. And then they would learn to love her. That wasn't the major concern. Pack rules: protect the mother of the cub. But other worries gnawed at him: how they would take the fact that he was helping with the wesen wellness centre and treating _all_ kind of wesen for sickness ― Bauerschwein included. Rosalee appeared to have befriended an elderly Hexenbiest: another old Blutbad nemesis. Two of his good friends, one of whom was a Siegbarste, were veering towards the edge of the bromance boundary, and as for Nick…

… he shuddered. He didn't want to know how to explain Nick.

He unlocked the shop door from the inside and wondered where to put Bruno while he worked. Searching around behind the counter, he realised that the fruitbowl that they used to put complimentary mints in was exactly the right size, and tucked Bruno's blankie in there before laying him down. Bruno looked snug and pretty happy with himself, one bare little foot tapping against the edge of the bowl. Monroe frowned. Something was missing here.

"Where is your sock?" He looked around in bewilderment. "Really! Where is your sock? You can't keep them on for two minutes! Are they self-ejecting, or something?" And then he realised that the other one was halfway off. He felt the bare foot, figured Bruno must be warm enough, and tugged off the other one. "Alright, I can take a hint. The moment you get cold toes, you get a new pair, right?"

Monroe chatted away for a while as he worked on the inventory. Bruno was a good listener, sticking his foot in the air at all the right moments.

"... completely out of cardamom. This is not a shame, I hate cardamom. It ruins every curry. One bite of a rogue pod, and you can't taste anything else but cardamom for days."

Bruno spread his toes in dutiful alarm.

"Exactly. Disgusting. But it's on the list, so we're going to order it. Never fluster a Fuschbau. Ok...fennel, fine for that. Damn, we're almost out of nettle. Now this _is_ a shame, because these are an ass to pick, seriously, and I'm damned if I'm going grovelling around in any more shrubs for a while. Had enough shrubs to last me a few years… No, I think we'll order those."

_Good plan_, said Bruno's foot.

"But to tell you the truth, ordering them is a bit of an ass, too. The guy that sells it is a jerk. He'd sell his own grandma to get extra bucks on that bushel."

Monroe squinted at the stockist address and chuckled, deciding to put a certain person to work.

"But happily, a stern but friendly-_ish_ half-Hexenbiest of our acquaintance lives within a half-mile of the jerk's greenhouse, so perhaps I can persuade him to pick it up. He might get a kick out of a little unsuccessful fulking."

"What's fulking?"

Jan's voice made Monroe erupt into the air as if tasered and he felt his heart slamming a 120 beat as he landed, gibbering.

"Sorry, I didn't mean to startle you."

"How did you get in?"

"Rosalee let us in through the back. Hello Bruno!" Jan handed Monroe a tiny blue sock and turned Bruno's fruit bowl round to face him. "Nice to see him all clean and tidy. May I..?"

"Give him a hug? Sure." Monroe's pulse came down slowly. "Fulking, by the way, is a universal wesen shopkeeper's term. It's descriptive of the wildly conspicuous techniques shopkeepers use to avoid serving a Hexenbiest."

Jan chuckled, scooping Bruno into his fingers. "For example?"

"Oh... like, throwing themselves on the floor behind the counter, setting off the fire alarm, actually _setting_ a fire has been known..."

"Sounds a bit extreme."

"Hexenbiests can be extreme, though Renard's a devoted non-woger, so I doubt they'll see him coming anyway. So, what can we help you with?"

Monroe actually felt a little nauseous as Jan described what happened to his brother and was relieved and grateful to find that they'd dragged Dr Maier over at two in the morning to administer the antidote rather than wake them up.

"Early afternoon heart attack aside, you are totally in my gold books for that. Thanks. So... you're bringing Stefan in?"

"I'd like to. He's scared of staying at ours in case he goes sleepwalking again, but he's not strong enough to be left alone yet, either. Denny and Livvy said they'd take turns keeping an eye on him. I know you can't be everywhere at once. And I might ask Freya to help, if that's alright."

Monroe fought all his inherent fears about a Hexenbiest in an apothecary's place, contemplated his parents' reactions, then reminded himself of the vast group of friends he'd accumulated who were nothing as their wesen-kind profiles would suggest, then finally squeaked: "It's fine!"

"You sure? This is why I'm asking you first. To give you the chance to say no?"

"It's fine. If it's fine with Rosalee, it's fine with me."

"There was something else," Jan said seriously. "Remus is otherwise occupied at present but I may need to make a delivery to someone on the wesen council. Do you know how I can do that?"

"Leave it with me!" Rosalee called from the back.

Nick clumped round the corner, looking a little off-balance, a little vague, but pretty happy. Even his plaster looked happy. Maybe his pain meds were super-effective.

"Nick... Shouldn't you be on crutches?"

"Don't get Jan started again," Nick begged. "I'm fine. I'm even back at work tomorrow."

"You. Are. NOT!"

Nick removed a slip of paper from his wallet, waved it at Jan, and grinned drunkenly. "Read the doctor's note and weep! I can work tomorrow. End of subject. BRU!"

"Bruno!" Monroe corrected automatically, sensing he was going to have a years-long fight with Nick over this. He watched his buddy almost wrestle his son out of Jan's hands and snuggle him, beaming hugely. "Nick, you sure you're alright?"

"He's fine." Jan rolled his eyes. "Remind me NEVER to buy this man another massage slot."

"It went on FOREVER! It was great! Never say yes to a 30 minute massage. No point."

"Couldn't get any sense out of him for two hours. I thought I would be happier about this than I am."

"He's in a mood," Nick said expansively, "because I won't open Juliette's letter."

"I am _not_ in a mood."

"See? Grumpy. Hey little man, look who ditched his socks already! Good job!"

"Juliette wrote?" Monroe felt like grimacing. Oh man. She was a lovely, lovely girl, but ... he didn't want that stress back in his life. Really, he didn't. "Totally put off that letter, Nick."

"That's supremely unhelpful!" Jan spluttered while Nick grinned ruthlesslessly alongside him. "He needs to know what he's dealing with. If it contains painful things, we'll be here―"

Monroe had to cut in. "Dude, look. You're like… the most caring and responsible big brother... _ever_... but sometimes, part of being a 'big brother' is allowing a guy space to go into complete, pointless denial if he so chooses."

"Patriarch."

Jan glared down at 'kid brother' as if he were about to flush him down the can. "Excuse me?"

"It's what Hank said. You're not a big brother, you're a Patriarch. Like, an ultimate father figure."

"You know what? If I ever hear that fucking phrase ever again—"

Nick laughed slightly nervously. "Whoo! testy!"

"Well it's annoying and very ageing! I'm not even 40 until August!"

Monroe bit back a grin. Trust a Koninglowen to object to feeling 'aged'. "Well… you do give off this kind of fatherly vibe―"

"You can keep your vibes!" Jan looked genuinely infuriated. "It's been happening more and more often and I'm sick of it! I only have two children. It's not like I've littered the planet, but I've had people saying that to me since I was 18. I've had random wesen say it to me. I've had it put on a teeshirt, for God's sake. I've had Nick's aunt call me that. I've had―"

Monroe watched the cheeky beam slide off Nick's face and promptly wanted it back again. Nick's expression was undiluted displeasure: pure, unamused Grimm. He looked as unamused as all his Grimm ancestors. Hell, it was a family trademark. He reckoned that Queen Victoria might be descended from a Grimm.

Jan's irritation had given way to sheepish neck-rubbing. "Oh dear."

"You've met my aunt? You've had my aunt call you a Patriarch? When!?"

"Pre-Grimm days."

"And you never mentioned this because!?"

Jan clapped his hands down on Nick's shoulders. "Shall we go and have some lunch somewhere, Nick?"

"Please do!" Monroe encouraged. "Go to the land of far, far away and discuss this. And return on friendly terms — or separately — to drop Stefan off. And leave my son here please, Nick. He only feeds from one person."

Annoyed or not, Nick passed Bruno back with extreme care, gave the tiny tummy a tickle, and then stomped out of the shop front with Jan in reluctant pursuit.

"It's not something I could've explained at the time, and it just hasn't come up in conversation, since…"

Monroe waited a few moments for them to be gone and remain gone, then he called Sean Renard, leaving a message to ask him to pick up the nettles. He wondered what Renard would make of Nick refusing to read a letter from Juliette. Would he pull rank and demand it? It's not like the guy was unaffected by the Juliette situation: he was still taking stabilising drugs to numb the effects of the mutual obsession, currently made controllable by her extreme distance in Vienna. After a while of considering life with Nick in agonies over Juliette again, he was tempted to send a little text: "Dude, whatever letter says, whether she wants you back or not, please, please, please move on."

But that might sound a little self-serving. He would save that for his begging routine as and when Nick finally opened the damn thing.

**X x X**

"...right. So I need to be there by eight..." Sean cleared his throat, regretting picking up his messages. He was tempted to just say, 'and _why_ am I agreeing to do pick up these plants?' when he realised that being lumbered with random tasks, like the Neighbourhood watch meet he was on his way to, or fetching bags of nettles, was clearly what he'd signed up for if he wanted to be a proper part of Nick's 'federation'. "Fine. Just text me the order number."

"Thanks. It'll save me a trip. I don't really want to leave Rosalee alone too long right now."

Sean made a few polite enquiries after Rosalee and their little one, and hung up. He looked up at the front door of Freya Lang's home, watching the bustle of people preparing snacks around a table in the well-lit parlour while others took their seats in the front room. He put off going in for another five minutes or so while he mustered his entire supply of urbane charm. There must be some sort of Zaubertrank to make that work faster. He might have to look it up.

A lot of procrastination was going on, it seemed. Stefan was sleeping his way back to recovery while being pumped full of iron to repair him after his multiple woge, in no shape to be messing with laptops and saving all the intel docs into the mutually agreed location. On reporting for duty, Nick dropped into the office to talk for a few minutes, and said he'd received a letter from Juliette, which he was not yet ready to open. Jan had offered to deliver a package to the father of someone who had died on the boat where Stefan was attacked, but didn't want to say who it was for until he'd spoken to Remus.

Having to wait for people to tell him things when they were ready, rather making them 'spill' was a new frustration for him. Nick and co were not minions: they were partners. But he had to put a limit on that arrangement. With the exception of Nick and his personal letter, he would demand intel-progress on the email and the package before the summit meeting on Sunday, visiting Stefan at his bedside if he needed to. Things were getting urgent. He no longer had any doubt that Gabriel Soutaines had taken over Verrat manoeuvres in Portland.

Soutaines moved quietly and decisively, as Remus warned that he would do, getting information and killing the donor. And Sean knew this, because by eleven o'clock on Wednesday morning, Wu called in a homicide at Doyle's pharmacy, just outside town. The owner had been shot between the shoulders with a 9mm bullet while closing up. It was no coincidence that this was where the gang took Rosalee for the emergency birth at the weekend. The news temporarily knocked the wind out of Nick and Jan, but Nick got right on it, Hank leading as Lieutenant.

Sean got out of the car and strode up to the doorway, knowing he'd have to be particularly tactful with Mrs Lang. They'd spoken briefly, earlier. She was extremely shaken that her ex-boss had been shot, but said she'd go ahead with the neighbhourhood watch meet anyway, .deciding that a clampdown on crime was more important than ever.

He'd barely rapped on the front door of Mrs Lang's home when the door was snatched inwards and two very similar ladies in their eighties ushered him in and towards the refreshments table. He was given a plate, a napkin, and sent straight to hell.

: : : : :

"I'm so sorry about them," Freya muttered, as the last of the neighbourhood cardigan squad filed out of her home. "There's really no telling them that you've had enough cake. I have one thing that may make you feel a little better. Just a second."

"Thank you."

After two hours of trying to pretend that he wasn't in agony, Sean leant back on her couch and whined quietly to himself while his hostess was in the kitchen, partly in embarrassment that she was looking after him after she'd just lost someone she'd worked with for six years. But six different parts of his gut were trying to clench at the same time and he could feel a sweat building. Jesus. He'd have been safer with the Professor of Legume Biology and her varied seduction attempts. At least he could laugh about those afterwards.

He felt another stomach cramp hit him, and this one he couldn't ignore. He leant forward and pressed his forearms against his thighs, puffing through it. As it passed, he looked up to see Freya holding a glass for him with explosive, white fizzy water, and looking very, very concerned.

"Did you have the dundee cake?"

"Probably. Oh...God." He gripped his gut, feeling like he'd eaten purification cake with barbed wire frosting. The paroxysm wound up to a peak and then he felt the burn of woge splash across his face just as it was passing.

"Oh my," she remarked evenly. "Alka Seltzer's not going to do much for you, is it?"

"I'm sorry, I'd better go." Sean stumbled to his feet and was mercilessly pressed down again.

"Don't be silly. I have something more useful. Follow me."

He followed her into the kitchen and saw her unlock a bottom cabinet and bring out an ancient pair of scales and a basket of neat sample bottles. He recognised all the label names. She got out a pretty little teacup and concocted something that looked entirely foul, and which then seemed to come to life. He looked apprehensively between her and the cup.

"Please don't take offence, but I'm suspicious of cold drinks that give off steam."

She chuckled warmly. "You're very wise. But from one old Hex to Zauberbiest in his Prime... it's just for effect. I wanted to see if you were going to pretend not to notice. Like you pretended not to notice the Stangebar from next door, and the maushertz from up the road..."

Sean sighed irritably after an evening of reining in his own woge. It was incredibly difficult not to 'go native' when nearly surrounded by other wesen. "Does Jan know you're a Hexenbiest?"

"Oh yes. His own self-disclosure was pretty accidental but really quite sweet. I felt I had to return the compliment out of politeness, really."

He folded his arms. "And what else do you know?"

"Well of course I'm not going into any detail! I don't know what you know. So I'm not going to go assuming that you know—"

"— Alright, alright! I don't want to get into a super-spy interaction, here. They're exhausting. Do you know about Nick?"

"Yes." She handed him a more normal-looking drink. "No more game-playing: his father was a Grimm. A good one."

"I know." He downed the gunk in the cup and shuddered, but the bitter taste was washed away by the sweeter appreciation for her candour. He did not want to play 'what-do-you-know-about-Nick' all night.

"I recognised him because I knew his father."

Interesting. "You met Reed Burkhardt?"

"I was friends with him for quite a few years. When Nick was very little. Alright, so you're naming the man. You knew him too?"

"More through reputation than anything else." Sean was more careful, now, though his trust rose significantly with the immediate effect of the drink she'd made him. His cramps had stopped. "My father's family and the Kesslers had a sort of... historical connection, shall we say. There was a lot of tension over heirlooms."

"Unhealthy attachment to history must be a wesen thing," she mused. "The Burkhardts had constant rows with the Kesslers over heirlooms too. And everything else, from what Reed told me. Frankly, it's a miracle they stayed married as long as they did. God knows what the holidays were like for them. Didn't surprise me to be told that they'd eloped."

She nodded him back through to the parlour and they sat at the edge of the refreshments table, pushing some of the empty plates out of the way. He helped, smiling a little at this unchartered slice of history. That, he didn't know. He never had Kelly Kessler down as the romantic type. Or maybe she just saw eloping as the most efficient way to avoid complications. That sounded more like her. The only thing that had ever made sense to Sean was her attraction to Reed: he was as uncomplicated as they came.

"I met him once," he said, surprising himself as much as her. "It was a straightforward encounter. I'd gone to see Marie, who was staying with them while she was sick. He was nowhere to be seen during the visit, but as I was leaving, he got more than a little annoyed with me for blocking his car in. He was meant to pick up Nick from little league. That was it. My one moment in the presence of the only reasonable Grimm to stride the earth until Nick grew up."

"Were you badly parked?"

Sean burst out laughing. "I was twenty-one. Of course I was badly parked."

"Were you one of the Grimm-watchers?"

He frowned. "What do you mean?"

"When he was tiny, he attracted a stupid amount of interest from various people wanting to know whether he was more a Burkhardt or a Kessler. I was just interested if you were in that number."

"No. That was my father's family, probably. I kind of divorced my family fairly early on but kept my connection with the Kesslers."

"I'd have chosen the Burkhardts, personally," she said wryly, sipping at her tea. "Not that they weren't stubborn, by the sounds of things. They had this 'artefact' that they insisted that the Kesslers would do irresponsible things with. Reed told me that his father had shouting matches with his sister in-law about it. The Kesslers insisted that the Burkhardts didn't know what they were dealing with, and should hand it over to be taken care of 'properly'. Or something. It was hard to follow the story when Reed got annoyed about it. He had a tendency to pace."

Sean froze. That, he also didn't know. The key _never belonged to the Kesslers_. Marie must have acquired it after The Burkhardts had died in the crash. Marie had played him for a very long time, pretending she had the key, when she only knew where it belonged and clearly believed she could get it if she needed to. The cunning little…

"Are you alright, dear?"

"Yes, sorry. Just feeling the last of the cramps go down." He was, for the first time in a long time, ashamed of the lie. He wanted to hear more. Now. But he'd said he'd pick up those damn plants, so he would. Also, she was easy to talk to. And she was also a biest.

She patted his hand knowingly. "You look like a man that needs to move. Can I keep your number?"

He was delighted. "Please do. I'd like us to speak again. But NOT at a meet like this, ok? Anywhere without food. Or twins."

"That'd be nice." She patted his arm and went to open the door. "I have to say, you were more stoical about the cake than that nice young Siegbarste that got lemon/coconut-slammed a couple of weeks ago. I'm sure he was polite to the Wheeler sisters at the time, or I'd have heard about it, but he was a little rude about their efforts after the fact."

Nice, young, polite, rude Siegbarste. An interesting description, and fairly unique. Sean sensed a set-up. "Blonde? English? Never starts a sentence properly?"

"Denny! Yes! Well, I suppose you'll know him vaguely if he lives with your colleague."

"Vaguely, yes." Sean put his smile back on for Freya, said his goodnights and trotted down to his car, steaming with annoyance.

He could imagine Denny rolling in through Jan's door post-cake, groaning, spending most of the night in the bathroom and cursing the culinary culprits the whole time. There was no WAY Jan didn't know about those competitive twins.

He put the car into drive and headed for the greenhouse to pick up the plants for Monroe. What he wanted to do was drive home, relax, and plot vengeance on Jan. In one way, the innocent-looking Dutchman did him a favour: he was glad to know Freya. But on the other hand, he was being played, and he didn't like being played. He felt that, in this case, no good deed should go unpunished. Nothing sufficiently subtle came to mind, though.

He parked at the side of the nursery and stomped through to the office at the front of the greenhouse, where a huge black sack sat on a counter with his reference number taped to it. A bored guy behind the desk watched an action movie on a portable TV and barely grunted at him as he picked the sack off the desk.

"What's in here?" Sean asked. It looked double-bagged.

"Nettle."

"Right." Sean nearly took out a tall, purple-blooming plant behind him as he swung it over his shoulder.

"Hey watch it! They're delicate, you know? They're not triffids. You shed all the leaves, you pay. Right?"

Sean steadied the heavy, leafy stem and dragged the sack along the floor instead. At the doorway, the sack crashed into a large pot, but with a quiet thump, this time. The guy didn't look up from his movie. The token in the pot read 'Nepetia Cataria.' (catnip).

Sean grinned. NOW something was occurring to him. He went back into the office and leant on the door frame. "How would you like to earn some extra money?"

**X x X**

Making sure she had actually put Renard's nettle delivery inside the shop door (she was forgetting so much stuff right now), Rosalee picked up Bruno's baby seat, locked up and headed for the Beetle. Denny, Nick and Monroe were getting Stefan ready to go back to Jan's. He looked a damn sight better than a few days ago. It was a shame more wesen didn't have the Koninglowen's healing capacity. Or the Grimm healing capacity, even.

She watched Nick move around like he was wearing the plaster and boot for form's sake, rather than because he needed leg protection. It was great that he wasn't hurting, but on the other hand, his monthly blood test results were showing rapid changes. _He_ was changing. Not so much as a person ― he was the same compassionate, impulsive, and bouncy Grimm as ever; but physically, he was becoming much more the being his father said he'd become at the end of his maturity phase. They'd be able to start taking cutting down his anti-pheromone tablets soon. Denny had cheerfully reported that Nick failed to take his pills until nine in the morning, but that he'd survived until ten before beginning to have unmately feelings towards the cheeky sod stealing all his cheerios. She was pretty sure that his reflexes were faster, and his physique had built. Sure, he'd always been athletic, but… yeah, she was totally in love with Monroe, but she was still female and still had eyeballs. Nick was now officially 'buff'.

But she was worried about him. Between Dr Maier's chemical examinations and their observations, they were beginning to develop theories about how ― physically ― he became a Grimm. And she worried what that letter would do to him if it held bad news. She could see the top of it poking out of his back pocket as he helped Stef into the back seat of the Toyota. He and Monroe waved the guys off and trotted back to the Beetle. Something urgent occurred to her as the jeep disappeared down the road.

"He did take the sleeping draught with him, right?"

"All fine," Monroe assured and they climbed into the car, Nick getting into the back.

"Jan didn't come pick his brother up?" she asked. "Is everything ok? Because there have to be some issues about Stefan losing control…"

"They're fine. Denny I volunteered to come over so Jan could have some time with Theo. His parent's evening meeting wasn't very… ah… relaxing for him."

Monroe smirked at him in the rearview mirror. "And what about you and Jan? All cool?"

"Yeah, he explained that he came across my aunt in a lift on her way out from visiting me in hospital years back, while I was still a rookie. I was pissed at him for about an hour before realising that what I was _really_ mad about was my aunt not waiting for me to wake up having come all that way to say 'hi', or whatever."

"I can imagine," Rosalee muttered, and Nick gazed out of the window for a while, turning the letter over in his hands. She waited for him to comment on it or say anything, but he stayed quiet pretty much until they were outside Monroe's home. Fine: the sore topic she had to raise with him could wait until they were indoors.

They got into the kitchen, opened beers and made her a tea, and she put Bruno to bed in the cot in the front room. The conversation had lulled as she walked back in so she cleared her throat and dived right in there.

"So Nick, I've been talking to Dr Maier, well of course I have ― we've been exchanging notes on Stefan ― and he says that you've been avoiding your latest blood test."

"He's right. And did he tell you why?"

"No."

"Interesting that he left this part of the conversation out. I told him that I would give him another sample of blood only when he got someone trained to do it. He SUCKS. Wrong angle every time and I _don't_ need unnecessary pain in my life."

"That's me told!" She raised her brows and he gave her a sheepish, apologetic grin.

"Wasn't aimed at you."

"Don't open that," she said abruptly, wanting to whisk the letter out of his hands.

"It's what I came here to do!"

"Look, this is hard to explain so I'm just going to blurt it out as slowly as possible and hope you don't say 'eh?' too often, alright? Your chemical signature is changing. It's been changing since we started running blood tests after you had pneumonia. Right? That's not new. You know this. But what all the hormonal information is telling us is what's going on with your limbic system. And I think I know what made you a Grimm. What makes any Grimm become a Grimm."

Nick looked at her cautiously. "Is this… a stalling tactic? You know something about this letter that I don't?"

"Huge emotional upsets," she went on. "One Grimm dies, and someone else becomes a Grimm. Not just anybody, got to be the same DNA with the same activity in the diencephalon―"

"What?" Nick looked over at Monroe in mute appeal, which annoyed her because she'd been rehearsing this, and she was the one talking, after all.

"And when a nearly-Grimm gets really, really upset ― like with the death of an only living relative, in your case ― the hypothalamus goes nuts, you produce too much adrenaline, and the cingulate gyrus malfunctions. You get different sensory input…that's you seeing wesen… and your aggression control fails. In your case, not so much. In your dad's case, not so much. But that's what happens when a nearly-grimm gets upset, so I really, really don't to see what happens when a Grimm gets hugely upset." She felt her eyes pricking. Damn those fucking hormones. "_Please _don't open that letter."

"Hey," Nick put his beer down and slid off his kitchen seat, reaching an arm out. "Please don't get upset?"

"She cares about you," Monroe finally interjected. "We both do."

"You're not going to see red if I give her a hug, are you?"

Monroe rolled his eyes, but not as much as she wanted to. She wasn't going to push him away, but she didn't want to be shushed, hug-calmed, or dismissed, either. But then Nick put his hands on her shoulders.

"Thanks. And that is an awesome theory and needs to be explored further, but there's just one flaw. I started seeing wesen before I even knew that my aunt was sick."

She breathed out a huge sigh of relief. Ok, good. So it was more complicated than that. She had mental images of Nick going ka-boom emotionally and scattering his nerves and all the good parts of himself over a wide area. She still didn't want him to read it, though.

"I've got to. I had a nice few days pretending that I was punishing her in some way by keeping her waiting, but that feels petty now, and … I need to know."

Monroe met her eyes nervously. "I'll just go get the Tussilago fafara from the car. Forgot to bring it in."

As her fiancée slipped out, she sat opposite Nick across the table and watched him open the envelope and unfold. His face was totally impassive to start with, and he seemed pretty laid back until about two thirds down the page. He smiled for a second, and then his jaw clenched. He read on, doing that really heavy breathing through his nose, his face becoming sharp and angular and angry. She followed his gaze as he got to the bottom of the page and swallowed hard as his eyes reddened. He turned over, dipped his face down and folded the letter. Then handed it to her, his voice cracking a little.

"Uh, feel free to… I got to go out for a sec."

He marched to the back door and hauled it open, and she wanted to go after him but knew that wouldn't help him right now. Monroe came from the car and peered nervously in through the kitchen.

"What news?"

"He gave it to me to read."

Monroe put the bottle down and stood behind, reading over her shoulder. "No… no, actually, I think I'm going to have one of these myself, first."

Rosalee tried not to be mad that she couldn't join in. She was breastfeeding, after all. And that stuffed numbed the mind like nothing else, making the brain tickle where it wasn't being soothed. It felt like having your hair stroked for three hours. A great edge-softener when taken with something more vicious, but really not particularly good for you in any dose greater than a half-glass. Monroe poured himself a whole glass of it, threw it down, and nodded. They read through it together.

* * *

_Dear Nick_

_I'm so sorry about the way I left for Vienna. And I'm sorry you had to hear about it the way that you did. Sean told me that you got the news of my departure from my message on his voicemail, and I feel terrible. I'd started writing to you to explain the whole obsession-spell problem, but events kind of over-took me, as I hope you understand. I know the effect Sean's name has to have on you in this context so I won't use it again except to say that I didn't know what the hell was going on when I started thinking about him all the time and so I went to him for help. I didn't know how to tell you. You were being so patient, both before and after I moved out, even though you were hurting. _

* * *

"Get to the point, already!" Monroe barked from behind her, and Rosalee gave him a light elbow. She thought it was a nice beginning, under the circumstances. Struck the right kind of tone.

* * *

_But there are few things I need to say and I wish I could sit down with you and talk about them. I'll be back for a week in February, if you want to meet. I'll understand if that's a little too soon. But after that, I'm in Vienna until the end of September. I've been invited to extend my studies here and I'd be insane to turn the opportunity down. And frankly, I'm scared of returning to Portland in case this ..'malady' I have gets more extreme._

_I know I ran away, but I really, really hope that your friends can help find a cure for that. Because I cannot spend the rest of my life trying to forget about someone that I don't actually love. I loved you. I love you again. I remember what you were, Nick._

_I remember you right up to the time of feeling sick at Monroe's house and feeling my legs go. I remember you trying to explain stuff to me, and not getting any of it. It was all so fast and none of it made sense. I want to make sense of it because I know it was important. Just for example, I have no idea what Adalind is supposed to be (a witch or whatever,), but I now believe that she's at least a bitch. She tracked me down in Vienna and asked such a weird number of questions about your inheritance from your aunt after about two questions about my course. I don't know how stupid she thinks I am. I am avoiding her successfully: she has a new 'friend' anyway who is about as genuine as Adalind is. Long story short, I realise that you wouldn't have hidden stuff from me unless you thought it was important it was kept secret. Jesus, if someone gave me that caravan, I'd keep it a secret._

* * *

"Ok, winning a brownie point there," Monroe conceded.

* * *

_So, I'm understanding only one thing, which is that you have some kind of historical obligation to chase down monsters that only you can see. It took a little while for me to wrap my head around that, and now I get it in principle. But the problem is, looking back on that year before you finally showed me what Marie left for you, I saw so many things you were protecting me from. I know that a lot of the stuff that happened was to do with these monsters._

_The problem I have now is that I am different. The Juliette then thought you were a cop in constant danger. Now I know you're more than a cop, and that's double the danger. If I'm completely honest with myself, there were some nights I didn't want you to go to work just because I feared you not coming back again. And that's when you were just a cop. When you got beaten in the house, you were – as far as I knew – just a cop. And I did not deal with what happened to you very well._

_If I were to stay with you, I am so afraid that I will become that person that texts you all the time to see where you are, who puts pressure on you, and I've never been good at seeing the bigger picture. All I want is you, safe. Remember I turned down your proposal? It wasn't just about you keeping secrets, it was about me not knowing what kind of danger you were in, only knowing that it wasn't just police work that you were trying to deal with._

_I know that a life as just a cop isn't possible for you anymore. __I'm__ not possible for you anymore because I cannot become that person that stops you from doing what you need to do. I dread becoming that person. You seem to have a good bunch of friends now that help you to make good decisions about the situations you face. Maybe, in time, if a cure is found for my 'malady', and I can stay in Portland after my course here, I might be able to join that group of friends. I really hope so._

_I'm sorry to end this with a horribly practical question, but … what are we doing with the house? I know you sub-let it and moved out (I don't blame you, too many memories for both of us), but do you want to sell? If you don't see a way through this whole situation? Please let me know._

_I hope to see you in February, if you can bring yourself to see me. I've put the number of my apartment at the bottom and my college email._

_Juliette._

* * *

"Oh…. dude!" Monroe breathed.

"Yeah!" Nick agreed from outside, and Rosalee gazed over at Monny in shock.

"How did he hear that?"

"You're talking kind of loud!"

No, they really, really weren't. So his hearing was getting better. Alright. Rosalee went to fetch him from outside to see what kind of shape he was in, but Nick walked back in, cellphone in hand. They didn't know whether to leap on him and make him stop and think, or what, but he looked really calm. The number seemed to take forever to dial, and just as it started ringing, Nick pulled it away from his face.

"What time is it in Vienna?"

"About seven in the morning," Rosalee said.

"Right." It rang a few times and then went to answerphone in German. Nick bit his lip and waited for the end of the message. "Alright… Juliette, it's me. I got your letter. First off, I think yeah, we sell the house. There's no good pretending that 'we' can happen. I get your reasons. Second, yes I want to see you in February. Third…" he looked at them expectantly.

"We'll do our best with a cure!" Rosalee shouted.

"… my friends want to help. So… see you soon."

Nick hung up and then reached for the bottle on the table. He looked like he was just going to pour himself a tank of it but then screwed his face up at the colour. "What the fuck is this?"

Monroe mixed a glass of it with about 50cl vodka. "Effective."

"That'll do." Nick downed it. His eyes crossed, he went slightly pink, and then swallowed hard. "Right…. This time I might have the vodka with a nicer mixer."

They weren't about to argue. There would be fall-out, but for the time being, they were pretty content that the fall-out wasn't coming here and now. And it seemed that he'd made the decision pretty coolly, under the circumstances. And not slammed any doors shut with the tone of his message. He could have all the vodka he wanted.

: : : : :

He wanted quite a lot, unfortunately. Monroe pulled her round the corner.

"I'm gonna make up the guest room. And let Hank know that he'll be in a little late and a little rough tomorrow. Could you text the big guys? So they don't worry?"

"Course." She did that, and got a simple '_Good god, poor Nick. Thanks for taking care' _from Jan.

Nick tottered over, clapped his hands on her shoulders and looked at her soulfully. And hiccuped. "C'n I stay over?"

"I think you should." She gave him a brief hug, steered him from the kitchen into the front room and watched with her arms folded as he droopily commandeered the furniture and cushions.

"... Ok dude, you know where the spare room is, consider the place yours—"

Rosalee bit back a grin as Monroe turned the bottom of the stairwell to find Nick stretched out already, eyes shut. She met Monny's eyes and loved the fake exasperation on his face.

"I see you've considered the question of what's 'yours' and decided on the couch. Whatever floats your boat, pal."

"Y'r great!"

"Cause it's not like we were planning on flopping out on the couch, or anything."

"Mmmm."

"Night night, Nick." Monroe trudged heavily towards their room. "Ok, so, let's flop out in bed. Rosie, could you get the blanket for him?"

"Sure. Why me?"

"Because I have to observe some tiny morsel of respect for my ancestors. Much as we love Nick, I stop short of tucking in a Grimm."

**X x X**

_**TBC… the Blutbaden cometh! And other alarming manoeuvres….**_

_**Ps – note to my lovely reviewer 'Helena'… I love seeing your reviews, thanks so much! But I can't PM to thank a guest, alas, or answer the questions you do raise in your reviews (and they're very good questions!) feel free to PM me, or not… (if you have reasons not to log in) I just didn't want you to think I was ignoring any of your queries or very nice remarks.**_


	12. Ah Hi Mom!

**Thanks all for the wonderful reactions to the last chapter and really encouraging reviews. It was a complete gamble with that letter from Juliette, so I was delighted (and very relieved) that the gamble seems to have paid off. Thank you!**

**As ever, I have totally opened a can of plot worms (they are so easily sprung). They are not all going to be resolved by the end of this story, if I'm entirely honest ;) but you know me, I can't do gratuitous gloom.**

**Thank you to my lovely guests (some of whom had no intention of reviewing as guests, lol) for your comments … alas, I can only hug you here for them and give you cookies as I can't PM, but please be hugged! **

**Right… onwards… I hope you enjoyed. I had fun returning Nick to the bosom of the MonRosalee care regime ;)**

**X x X**

Wu pulled in around the corner of Lovejoy Park, casting a doubtful gaze over at Mariam, who appeared to be blow-drying a forest of light-brown hair, combing the highlights out of it, and doing her lip-gloss all at the same time. He'd suspect her as an octopus wesen if he hadn't been so firmly assured that she was human. Maybe it was a teacher thing, this insane level of multitasking.

"Eh, Marri… I could drive us a little closer to the South Park blocks. You don't _have_ to run from here."

She shot him a brilliant grin that made him glow inside out (SO glad she's not wesen) but shook her head and grabbed her bag. "Thanks, but I need to start my morning with air. If I don't, I'll strangle a student before 9.09."

"That's specific."

"That's when they start setting up parallel bars. Wrongly."

He grinned and got out with her, slamming his door shut. "Shall I walk with you?"

"Please do." Mariam slipped her hand through his arm and he was delighted to see that she wasn't abandoning him several hundred yards from the sports block out of shame. There was a little bit of a height gap thing going on: even without her heels, his gorgeous, kind, funny girl was five foot ten or so against his thoroughly Philippino five-seven. The age gap thing worked more in the direction of his ego: she was a sexy twenty-seven and the jealous sighs in the squadroom made him very happy. The incredulous gawps he tried to ignore.

He and Jan had chatted in a vague sort of way about having a joint 40th in August: if he and Mariam were getting on then the same way as they were getting on now… well… it might become a triple celebration.

He heard a crunch in the middle distance and looked over to see a Nissan rear-ending an ancient, knocked off beamer. Mariam squinted over, probably wondering whether either of the drivers were students. They were a little older, not that their behaviour showed it. Instant road rage broke out, the beamer driver damn near ripping his door open to lunge back and beat on the furious guy accusing him of cutting in. Wu squinted. He thought he saw hair lengthen on the beamer driver. Just for a second. Short enough to make him seriously doubt: long enough to give him nightmares.

"John, go stop them!"

"No, traffic control's on top of it." And they were. Wu saw a couple of uniform guys pelt down the sidewalk and separate them with huge difficulty.

"But you're a sergeant! You're like a boss, aren't you?"

He liked being 'like' a boss but had no real desire to go throw his weight around. "Yeah... but they're _traffic_ guys. They take their niche duties really seriously. If I wade over there, they'll just think I'm butting in."

"Oh." She looked on, unconvinced, as the drivers kept trying to pummel each other over the top of the traffic cops' shoulders. "they're not handling it so well…"

Another flash of longer hair, and this time he knew he wasn't imagining it. Man, he really needed to speak to Hank about this. Were they doomed to be mini-Grimms from now on? He closed his eyes and even behind closed lids saw longer hair sticking backwards, and sharp teeth. Wolfy wesen, like the kids gatecrashing the Winterfest. Both drivers were now flattened over their own vehicles and cuffed for affray. He caught his breath in relief that he wouldn't have to wade in.

Mariam squeezed his hand. "You ok?"

"Yeah, I'm good." He slowed his breathing. "See? They're completely on top of the situation now. Besides, I'm off duty!"

"I thought cops were always on duty?"

"Look at it this way, Marri. You're a Phys Ed teacher, right? Do I ask you to make me drop to the floor and give you twenty on your days off? No!"

"Oh, don't tempt me..."

Mariam giggled all the way to the door of the block and gave him a quick, brushing kiss before going to work. Wu waved her off and trotted back to his Suzuki, feeling normal again. And very happy. Even if things got really weird, he could handle it with her around. She gave him bounce.

**X x X**

_Sean_

_Working from home today: I've got a few things to sort out with Remus (I'll report back to you, of course). Stef is still off-colour. I want to keep an eye on him. Hope all went well with neighbourhood watch last night._

_Sincerely,_

_Jan._

* * *

He fired the email off and checked on Stef, who was fast asleep on the z-bed in his room, a forearm flung over his face to keep the morning light out.

Staying in Jan's room, under lock and key, was Stef's own condition for returning to the house rather than going back to the apartment on 2nd Avenue, just down from PPD. Jan agreed without hesitation. The arrangement kept Theo and Carrie safe, as planned, but it also kept Stef safe. He'd be damned if Stef was staying anywhere alone with those nightmares rattling around his head.

It hadn't been a good night for either of them, but there was no roaming or severe wogeing, this time. Jan wiped his hands down his face, hauled a tank and some jeans on for now, pocketed his phone and stumbled downstairs after a quick fight with the overenthusiastic door lock.

Livvy, Theo and Denny were already up and all dressed; Livvy and Theo engrossed in the avengers cartoon series, his little boy curled up on top of her with his thumb in his mouth. Denny clattered around clearing up breakfast.

"Coffee, mate?"

"Please, yes." Jan felt his pocket buzz and saw Sean's response.

* * *

_Jan_

_Fine, I'll let Wilkes know. Thank Stefan for me: I got his email at 11pm last night. _

_And I'm sure you have a very good idea of how Neighbourhood watch meeting went, you annoying bastard._

_Irritably,_

_Renard._

* * *

Jan chuckled helplessly until Den handed him a coffee and snatched his phone, demanding to see what was so bloody funny. He raised a brow.

"You're playing with fire, mate. He's not going to take an intestine explosion lying down, you know."

"_That _was for pushing me into establishing a police cadet corps. Like I have nothing else to do."

"He has resources..."

"So do I. Although they're all rather thinly spread at the moment."

The sheer organisation involved in setting up the cadet corps sobered him pretty quickly, and reminded him that he wanted to check in on Barry Rabe to see how he was doing. And he needed to get back to young Mr Geiger, who wasn't keen on being a cadet or a special, but who _did_ need a job to keep up his part payments to the Von Hamelin institute for tuition fees. Jan mentally added both things to his everlasting list of things to do. After he'd spoken to Remus.

Denny marched over to the couch and ruffled Theo's hair. "Time to go, little mate. Mind if we stop off at the dry-cleaners before nursery? I want to get our suits for tomorrow night."

"Tomorrow night?" Jan scratched his head. "Oh, God... yes. The bravery awards. I hope my dress uniform still fits."

"I doubt it." Den grinned. "Your shoulders have filled out just a teeny, weeny bit. I'll take it with me and get a couple of inches taken out of the back panel."

"Thanks, Denny." The man was a god-send. Jan gave Theo a gentle poke. "Come on, to the car, please."

Theo nodded and gave Livvy a big smile. "Thank you. The boob-cushion was very comfy."

Livvy pinkened. "Um...um... you're welcome?"

"Theo! Perhaps a little more chivalry?"

"Oh! Sorry…" Theo landed a little smooch on the back of her hand and headed out for the car at a cheerful stride, leaving Jan to face-palm in his wake. He preferred it when Theo thought girls were 'yuck'.

He buckled Theo into the back seat and handed Denny a fifty for the dry cleaning and adjustments. "Are you picking Nick up, while you're in that neck of the woods?"

"Yep, that was the plan. Poor sod. He's probably got a raging hangover, too, if he's got any sense."

Jan nodded sadly. He'd hoped for the best for Nick, but could entirely understand why he'd finally decided to draw a line behind him and stop hoping, where Juliette relationship was concerned. He waved them both off and hopped back up to the house to shower, change and make that godawful call.

**X x X**

Monroe swerved around the Grimm-encumbered couch and handed a coffee to Rosie, who was squashed down in the armchair with her feet up. She took the cup with the right hand, Bruno snoozling against her left shoulder, his little fists bunched up. He couldn't decide whether Bruno looked littler with or without a baby-gro on.

"He's so cute when he's sleepy," Rosalee said fondly, staring into the middle distance, and Monroe glared over at the couch, where Nick remained exactly where he'd flopped last night, mouth open, hand trailing on the floor, and leg draped over the top of the couch.

"Is he? I've seen more decorative sleepers, believe me."

"I was talking about Bruno, you yutz."

He blushed. "Ok, sorry. D'oh moment."

"Unnnnnh." Nick's face crumpled in his sleep and slowly but surely, his hands went to his head. "Oh... God..."

"The Grimm waketh."

Rosalee got to her feet, handed Bruno to him, and headed for the kitchen, patting Nick's shoulder lightly as she passed. "I'll just get him some fresh water."

Nick pulled himself slowly into a seated position, moving like he'd run six marathons back to back. He'd done spectacular damage to his hair for a guy who probably hadn't moved all night. It stuck up at every angle known to geometry. He looked like he'd fought a leaf blower and lost. As much as he felt for Nick's heartache, Monroe still had a hard time keeping a straight face at the state of him. Nick's bloodshot eyes fixed on the empty vodka bottle on the coffee table and he pointed at it inaccurately. "Did I h-have... all that?"

"You left me a snifter."

"Shorry."

"Nick! You're still drunk!"

"I know," Nick moaned and dropped his head onto his knees.

"But you're more bendy than you used to be," Monroe observed by way of consolation. Nick moaned again and creaked upright.

"Water, honey."

Nick took the tumbler from Rosalee with a grateful wince and downed the water in one glug. "Thanks."

Rosalee stroked his shoulder. "Shall I just go fill a vase?..."

"S'alright. Gonna get a shower. See-iv that works a little."

They both watched, taking it in turns to flinch as Nick tripped over the corner of the coffee table, caught his shoulder on the wall, then fell in through the open bathroom door. Then they heard the slightly more reassuring sounds of water running, and Nick yelping as it took a few moments for the boiler to kick in.

"Breakfast?" Monroe offered, and Rosalee followed him eagerly into the kitchen.

They were clearing their bowls away by the time Nick shambled into the kitchen, clean, but wild-eyed and bewildered. He reached eagerly for the coffee on the edge of the table and took several long swigs. Monroe was surprised how effective it was: Nick started waking up properly, albeit still with a slightly drunken lilt to his voice, and still smelling a little of last night's excesses, despite his best efforts with the clean up.

"Sorry, guys. I probably got a little... outta hand last night."

Monroe shrugged and put some be-jammed toast in front of him. "Actually, no. You're a pretty peaceful drunk. There was a lot of ... strangeness..."

"Uh uh... what kind of strangeness?"

"Well, you seem to have your Jan impression pretty much polished. Like, you stood on a chair, grabbed Rosalee by the shoulders and boomed caringly at her for a few minutes."

"Oh, no..."

"Oh, it's no sweat. She giggled so much I thought she'd ruptured something." Mmmm, what else was there? "And then there was some angry pointing in the Harrison Ford style, but directed more at the kitchen table, than us. And then you defended Bruno's cot against invisible marauding Maushertz. And then you put yourself to bed and hiccupped until 4am. So... it's all cool. And, the wild drinking... it wasn't without cause, was it?"

Nick gave him a tired smile. "Thanks."

A silence hung in the kitchen for a moment while Nick tried to remember where his head was in relation to the rest of his body, and rested his face on his forearms with his eyes closed while his memory came back. When the silence continued, Monroe had to start asking the personal questions, if only to make the awkward quiet go away.

"So... how do you want to deal? Like, no-one mentions her name until you're ready to bring the subject up... which runs the risk of you thinking we don't give a crap, or do we all act 'normal', ask lots of personal questions, and try not to notice when you wince at the mention of her name?"

Nick pulled an eye open. "That was a lot of question in one go. Can ya break it down a little?"

"Are we allowed to mention Juliette?"

"Not for at least three days."

"Ok. I can totally work with that." Good. That was a rule. Monroe could work with rules. So he totally changed the subject. "How is it staying with Jan and Denny?"

Nick chuckled. "Wow, that was a serious change of subject!"

"We like to be good hosts around here."

"Very, very comfortable. It sounds bad, but after five days there I'm considering a second accident or a relapse so I don't have to go home." He smiled vaguely. "Wouldn't put it past Livvy to do the same."

Rosalee grinned. "How's she doing?"

"I'm not sure. Also very, very comfortable, but... I can see her sliding towards Stef."

Monroe couldn't see why that was a bad thing. "What's the problem?"

"She's not over Graham, asshole though he was, and Stef has PTSD, no matter what he says about it. Not really a healthy combination for either of them."

"Maybe," Rosalee ventured, "they need each other to get through it all. If they hook up, great. If they don't, friends for life."

"And if it all goes wrong? What if Stef's not safe, yet? She could've been mauled the other night. Stef had no idea what he was doing."

Monroe sighed and ruffled the back of Nick's head as his face disappeared back down on his forearm. "Only because he had a raging fever, Nick. He didn't cause any problems once that settled. Anyway, she's living with a Grimm. I'm sure she'll be ok."

Rosalee plucked Bruno out of his arms. He'd curled into a little apple shape in the nook of his elbow, his thumb in his mouth. "I'll just go put our little man down."

A noisy knock at the front door made them start and for a moment, Monroe thought he recognised his father's uncompromising rhythm, but there was quiet murmuring as Rosalee let their guest in, and Monroe collapsed with relief to see Denny march into the kitchen.

"How's our groggy Grimm?"

"Groggy," Nick admitted.

"Have you eaten yet, or does food still look like a pile of dried locusts?"

Monroe swallowed queasily. "Way to go to build up the appetite, Denny!"

"Sorry. Just assumed we were still in 'don't mention food' territory. Do you not want that toast, Nick?"

Nick turned up a limp hand in a fairly permissive way and Denny took the first half-slice down in one go.

"_Brilliant_ jam."

Monroe beamed. Raspberry was one of his favourite experiments. "Really?"

_"_Oh yeah. Sticky. Not too sweet. Chunky. Top drawer, mate."

He made a mental note to give Denny a huge jar of it and decided there was no time like the present. He was halfway into the pantry when his phone rang, making Nick clutch his head under his arms as the shrill tone reverberated through the kitchen.

"Want me to get that, mate?"

"Ah, let it ring. If it's a client, my voicemail will deal."

As his own recorded voice burst trilled into the air, Monroe wondered if his 'I'm not here' message was a little too chirpy. If not a little... camp.

"...and it's a boy! Yay! so I'm off the clock business until the end of March. My first working day will be 2nd April. I never work on April's fools. Of course, if you're completely _desperate_ for a clock fix, there are two other reasonably friendly competitors I can recommend..."

There was no message, just a click of resignation at the other end of the line, and Nick lifted his face off the table and grinned blearily at him. "_Do_ people really get completely desperate for a clock fix?"

"They do, as a matter of fact."

Nick's eyes suddenly widened, he started shaking and clutching at himself and Monroe wondered what the hell was going on, as did Denny, who peered down at him, frowning.

Monroe took a cautious step forward. "Dude, you alright?"

"Oh my god, I need a fix..."

He smiled reluctantly at Nick's sarcastic little performance. "Yeah, o-kay—"

"Nick! Monroe!" Rosalee's voice broke urgently into his hearing, and he looked over to see Rosalee looking tight-faced. Crap! Her addictive past!

"Nick, don't do that, Rosalee has history she _really_ doesn't want to be reminded of..."

"I need a fix and I need it now!" Nick got out from behind the table and crumpled at Monroe's knees, clutching his trousers and howling. "Don't turn me away! You're the only fixer for me!"

"Nick, you need to stop. Bad timing, man! Seriously bad!"

"MONROE!" She was now pointing urgently at the front door and added "VISITORS!"

Monroe's blood froze.

Nick cut his act off immediately thank god, tuning into the slight hysteria in Rosalee's voice. He got slowly to his feet, using Monroe's shirt for a pull-up, but kept his head hung like a bad boy busted for low-level crime. Monroe wondered if the drunken thing had kicked back in, but then realised that Nick was trying to avoid any eye-contact with his Pa, who'd now swaggered into the kitchen and was crunching his knuckles.

"This guy bothering you, son?"

"Hey Pa!" Monroe met desperate gazes with Rosalee, apologising mutely for their early arrival. He could feel his pulse doing 180 behind his eyes, his teeth, and — weirdly — round the back of his knees.

Rosie flicked a helpless smile at his mom. "It's really nice to meet you—"

"Who is this terrible man? And... oh my god, he REEKS of liquor!"

"Um, hi mom, this is Nick..." OH HELL, WHAT NOW?

Nick rescued him by breaking down with real feeling and whirling round to stuff his face in Denny's shoulder, his voice coming in hitches. "He w-won't fix it!"

"Told you he wouldn't! He _is_ on paternity leave, like it said on the flaming message..." Denny grabbed him into a hug and gave Monroe an exaggerated wince. "Sorry mate, it won't happen again. Break ups do this to people. C'mon, Nick. Let's get you home."

"Want me to put him outside for you, son?" His Pa woged and bared his teeth, slamming his left fist into his right palm.

Oh, Jesus. Monroe swore he felt his heart accelerate, even. "Pa, he's actually a friend."

"Oh, he's a FRIEND?"

"Yeah," Denny barked, "and he's just having a moment. I'll 'put him outside', if it's all the same to you. C'mon fella..."

Nick sniffed as he was led firmly away. "'m sorry. But it was my mom's clock and I dropped it... and.. the complications got... um... complicated."

Jeez, Nick. Quit while you're ahead? Monroe managed a thin smile and he clapped Nick on the shoulder. "It's no biggy, dude. Just lay off the juice a little, huh?"

His pulse lowered slowly, so slowly, as Denny guided the 'meek and miserable' Nick rapidly past his parents, to the door, and he just saw them sprint down his driveway to the Toyota and leap in. He then walked over heavily to shut the door behind them. Smooth. So smooth. Not. Still, that could've gone a whole lot worse. Denny could've woged back at his Pa, just fr'instance. He turned with a cheerful hand-clap.

"So! You're here a little earlier than expected. Like... a week and a half earlier than expected, but hey! Great to see you—"

"Who was that?" his mom demanded.

"Why've you got clock-obsessive queers in your kitchen at nine in the morning?"

"Look, Nick's going through a bad time, they're not 'queers', and you know I don't like that word anyway." Dammit, he did not want to start this visit with an argument! And for God's sake, would it kill them to explain why _they'd_ decided to descend on his kitchen at nine in the morning? He snapped the smile back on again. "Can we pretend that never happened and go again from the top?"

His parents exchanged glances with each other, then looked to Rosalee, and then back to him. As his Pa drifted off to the kitchen to find coffee, embarrassing him hugely with his total lack of manners, his Ma tucked a thick knot of curly hair behind her ear and held her hand out primly to Rosalee, who, bless her, took it warmly.

"Again, it's lovely to meet you. I'm Rosalee."

"Martha," his mom clipped. "So, you're the one that tamed my son."

Rosalee blushed slightly. "Honestly... he was pretty tame when I found him."

"Been wieder six years now, mom!" Monroe sing-songed, trying not to get annoyed by his ma's tone. The fact of him being 'tamed' was not voiced as a positive thing.

"For a woman who's just given birth, you're looking good on it. How was the pregnancy?"

"Short," Rosie admitted. "As you probably know, we kind of found out towards the end."

His Ma shrugged and smiled. "Sometimes, that's the best way. Less stress, less problems. I'd like to meet my grandson."

Rosalee beamed, disappeared and returned with Bruno, who she handed over slowly and carefully. His Ma beamed down at her grandson, stroking the little face with her fingertips.

"He's beautiful. Dark red hair, though? Unusual."

"I kinda like it," Rosalee replied, keeping her face placid and welcoming, doing awesomely. Better than expected, even.

"He is _so_ little," His Ma said, rocking Bruno a little. He remained asleep. "That's not unusual for an Alpha Blutbad, of course, but are you sure you ate enough during term? Cause ya don't even have that post-birth sag."

"Can't see any saggin' from here!" His Pa agreed from the kitchen. "Don't go minding your figure where kids are concerned. There're more important things in life!"

Rosalee's face fell a little, but she kept a brittle smile in place as she met his mom's eyes directly. "I ate like a Nucklavette, I promise."

"If you say so."

Monroe face-palmed behind them. Gee, thanks folks.

**X x X**

"Wie is dit? Wacht even... " Remus pulled away from the line for a moment. "Helene! The sundial's two paces ahead. You're lost again. Will you not use your stick? I bruise on your behalf each time you walk into something huge and solid."

Jan rolled his eyes, glad that Denny was out. Den was not taking his mother's relationship with Remus very well. Her 'vacation' in Holland had overrun by another week, now. "Remy, it's me."

"JAN! Good to hear from you. Doubtless you're about to give me shitty news of gross proportions, but until then, how are you?"

"I'm good." At least Remus remembered their code, then. He only called his old boss 'Remy' if they needed to talk privately. Really privately.

"Excellent. Is this urgent?"

"No—"

"Then email me cute photos of your tiny people later, and don't call just before dinner? Ok? Talk soon."

As Remus hung up, Jan put his phone down and waited for Remus to switch to a disposable cell. It would take a few minutes for him to go indoors, dig one out and re-dial. He turned on the kettle while he was waiting. Stef and Livvy were sharing the couch awkwardly in a tangle of legs and cushions, her face on his chest and his arm around her. Livvy had dozed off again, which worried Jan a little. For such an essentially lively person, she spent a _lot_ of time asleep over the last few days.

Stef met his eyes dubiously. "Does she look pale to you?"

"Yes."

"Shall we get Nick to talk her into going back to the doctor's? Nick seems to be the only one she actually listens to."

Jan smiled slightly at his brother's irked tones. "There's nothing going on between those two, you know."

"Really? So why does he give me death stares whenever I go anywhere near her? It's no joke! I can deal with it when it's just a regular guy, but when Nick does it... it's like looking on the inside of a migraine."

"He's otherwise friendly, isn't he?"

Stef rolled his eyes. "For a Grimm. I suppose."

"She was his rookie for a very short while and got badly hurt on duty. Wasn't his fault, but it didn't stop him feeling responsible for her."

Stef sighed. "Alright. I get that."

"I'm worried about you." It came out before Jan could stop it. Stef was his kid brother, but he was 30. Not a kid. Stefan gave him a small smile.

"So was I. I've got you lot now, though."

"Good. I'm glad you feel like you've got a home here. But it's going to take you a while to get over losing your pride. Don't rush it."

Stef nodded briskly and looked away. When he looked back, his eyes were dry, but he was angry. "They _were_ a pride, of sorts. I went through a lot with those guys. I just keep seeing Danson with his arm torn..."

Jan put a hand on Stef's shoulder, and then his phone went off. "Fuck!"

"It's alright. Get it. Heard you calling him 'Remy'. I'm not going anywhere."

Jan raised his brows, but Stefan looked pretty upbeat, all things considered. His colour a damn sight better. He wandered back to the kitchen and snatched his phone back up. "That took a while."

"Yes, sorry. It was a wet hiatus. I warned Helene about the sundial, but forgot about the pond. I'm in disgrace."

He couldn't help chuckling. Helene had eschewed the use of her stick around his home too, once she'd had the original tour. "Oh dear. Is she alright?"

"She's taking a shower. She'll be fine. Ok, give me your atrocious news."

"Does the name Jaco de Groot mean anything to you?"

Remus was quiet for a moment. "Jaco de Groot is the youngest son of the chairman of the wesen council. I'm sure I don't want to know why you know his name."

"You don't," Jan said heavily, but told Remus anyway. If anyone would know what to do with the package meant for delivery, Remus would.

He explained about the attack on Stefan and his crew, and how Stefan had escaped with Jaco alone.

"There was one other passenger who wasn't 'turned'," Stef called from the couch, "but he was dead before we got him up on deck."

"Can I speak to Stefan?" Remus asked, and Jan walked the phone over, putting it to speaker. Livvy was still fast asleep.

Stefan spoke to Remus at length in Dutch, closing his eyes from time to time as he relived 'the boat' again. Eventually his jaw clenched and he exhaled sharply, breaking back into English.

"Yes, I'm afraid he did suffer. But... if you want to evade that and tell De Groot that he asked me to deliver the package because he feared for his life... I won't contradict you."

"Thank you, Stefan. I believe I'll do that. Jan? Still there?"

"Natuurlijk."

"Where is that package now? And is the Grimm aware of it?"

"I have it." It was less than half fist-sized and sat in his pocket. "And yes, Nick's aware that Jaco gave Stefan something to deliver."

"Alright. Open it please."

"What?"

"Jaco and his father did not get on well. He would only have sent something to his father in dire straits for safe-keeping. It will not be safe with de Groot. Security will be the least of his concerns right now. Please open the package. We will move from there."

"Give me a moment." Jan fished the little package from his pocket with its miniature address label, and picked open the several layers of tape before breaking into another couple of layers of brown paper. Getting impatient, he summoned a minor woge, just sufficient to bring claws out, and ripped a hole in the packaging. A browny-green, carved rectangle dropped out onto the kitchen floor.

Jan bent guiltily, hoping that he hadn't killed it. The rectangle parted into two halves and Jan felt his pulse speed up. He snatched the phone up. "Jesus Christ... it's another key."

Stefan looked confused. "That's important?"

"Critically," Remus agreed.

"So why the hell would he just give it to some guy that tried to get him off a sinking boat?"

"Last resorts," Remus said shortly, but Jan sensed he wasn't telling the truth. He would pick Remus up on that, later.

"You need to tell Nick," Remus said wearily. "I presume he has the Burkhardt key. _I_ will talk to Sean._"_

"I'd rather do that myself, Remus. Sean's only just coming into our group. He'll be angry I didn't tell him. Especially as he's making a sincere effort to share intelligence."

"We have more secure lines of communication. Don't worry, he'll understand. For now, put it somewhere very, very safe. Gabriel Soutaines is now on US soil and he's working directly for Royalty, now. He may take his time, more time than Eric wants, but he will get Nick's key or die trying. I really don't want him to find two."

"It's not staying anywhere near the house," Jan muttered, given the recent attack on Zach Doyle. "Alright, I'll do that. Now what?"

"I will deal with De Groot. And I'll tell you and Nick what I can once I've spoken to Sean. Now I'm going to force down dinner with no appetite. Dooie."

"Dooie," Jan and Stef chorused as Remus hung up, but only had a second to stare at each other when Livvy stirred.

"What's 'doy' mean?"

"See ya," Stefan translated, and sprung up. "Jan, can I log into your email? I want to find out who was on dispatch when my team got sent to that ship. And see if the recovery team has established why it sank."

"On the office table. Boot up and I'll come and do the log-in." Jan watched Stef go, wondering how the hell he got so lively, all of a sudden. His colour was a damn sight better. Good. He was recovering like a Koninglowen, at last. Jan checked his watch, hoping Denny would be back soon with Nick. Though he wasn't sure that a sudden onslaught of Grimm duty would be doing Nick any favours right now.

"It'll help him, keeping occupied," Livvy said suddenly, not quite woken up yet.

Jan walked round the couch and sat on the end of it. "Nick, or Stefan?"

"Both, but I meant Nick."

"Thanks. That's helpful." Jan realised she was talking with her eyes closed. "Livvy, you're very drowsy."

"Mmmm."

"Want to go for a ride with me? Get some air?" He gave her a light shake. "Livvy?"

**X x X**

Freya stumbled towards her ringing home phone, wiping sleep out of her eyes. Her own sleeping draught was a little over-effective. She was usually up at seven but…

… hell, she had no reason to be up at seven any more.

Thinking about what happened to poor Zach Doyle made her feel ill. It was nice having Sean over last night. She felt safe with him in the house, even if it wasn't for very long.

She snatched up the phone before it quit ringing. "Hello? Freya North."

"Freya? It's Rosalee." The girl's voice sounded awful hushed. And echoey.

"Are you alright dear? You sound like someone making a furtive call."

"That's because I'm making a furtive call," Rosalee admitted. "Look, I can't get to my books right now because they're at the tea and spice shop but I wondered if you knew an emergency recipe for creating a nasty-looking rash. I'm so sorry to just call and demand stuff from you, but there's a payback in it in moment, alright?"

Freya scratched her head. "Biological washing powder scraped over the skin will usually―"

"That was the first thing Monroe tried! His mom accused me of not rinsing the laundry out properly and Joe's on his knees in the garage figuring out what's wrong with the machine."

She sighed sympathetically. "Alright honey. Are you somewhere safe? I've just got to find my little black book."

"Thanks _so_ much…"

It took a moment or so for Freya to find a solution that involved stuff you'd find around the average household, and then to remember how to make it odourless and colourless. She recited the steps and ingredients quietly down the phone to Rosalee, who sounded like she was almost sobbing with relief at the other end.

"Ok, that's such a huge IOU I'm going to do the payback right now. Freya, I need maternity cover. Will you come help out at the store and the Wesen Wellness Centre?"

She blinked. "That's an awful lot of trust, honey. What's the probation period?"

"Is three months ok?"

"It's excellent. When do I start?"

"Monday? Could you do Monday? God, I really need a friendly face at work to escape to. Monroe's going to be all caught up with his folks, and―"

Freya closed her eyes and shook her head rapidly. Evasion was no way to go, here. "Honey, I'm going to give my new boss some totally unsolicited advice. How big is your man's pack?"

Rosalee squeaked. "Excuse me?"

"His pack. I didn't say pack_age_. Get your mind out of the gutter."

Rosalee giggled nervously. "Sorry. Uh… his parents, younger brother and wife, their three kids…"

"Right, that's quite a few people to battle constantly unless you dig your heels in early. Do they know you're a Fuschbau yet?"

"No." Poor girl sounded so miserable. "They're still recovering from the shock of me once having a problem with J."

Freya stared at her phone. "Who the hell told them that? You didn't go into some nutsy 'once was lost but now am found' confessional, did you?"

"Monroe told them."

"Was it a blurt?"

"Sort of. Not really his fault. He said something in my defense that they weren't supposed to catch. It's not been a good morning. Anyway, you were going to give me unsolicited advice…?"

"Yes. Unless Monroe still has a grandmom kicking around, his mom is the pack matriarch. You're a sweet girl so this may be anathema to you, but you can't earn her respect, you have to _demand_ it. And you have to do that as soon as possible because otherwise, she'll begin the great female squeeze-out and then you're not getting back in again. Especially as you're not a Blutbad."

"Monroe might have a hard time with me being aggressive with his mom."

Freya sighed, wishing she could pat the girl on the hand right now and pour her a glass of wine. "Your man knows how pack dynamics work. He may have forgotten, but he'll wake up soon enough. Remember, you're doing this for both of you. Disclose your Fuschbau deliberately, and keep control."

There was a long, nervous pause. "And if she goes for me?"

"Then she'll lose her son and her grandson." Freya was absolutely sure of that. "The pack instinct in your man is strong, but he chose _you_. Trust in that. And if your nerve fails, just remind yourself that you're standing up to his mom because you want Bruno to have a grandma. And for the love of God, do not tell these people that you've hired a Hexenbiest."

Rosalee chuckled softly. "Ok, I won't. For a while. They had a hard enough time getting their heads around the notion of an _all-wesen_ care centre…"

"See you Monday, dear. Call back if it's not going well."

They hung up and Freya heard a thump round the back of the house. Too loud for a damn possum. Her ears pricked up. The sound was too _rhythmic_ for a possum. Footsteps… quiet, but getting all the wrong boards in the passageway under the awning. She should have a baseball bat or something for these moments. She didn't.

Trying to stay calm, she pottered across the room to the kitchen. She managed to hum, then sing badly, and quietly get mad about people who'd have the cheek to sneak around in broad daylight. She should call someone. She had people to call, now. She could call Sean, Nick, Jan, Denny, or Rosalee and Monroe… but how long would it take them to get to her? She pretended to wash up, looking down but keeping a weather eye out through the window through the reflection of the glasses in the sink.

She heard the handle on the back door being tried out and her stress grew. The heat in her hands was beginning to make the washing up water bubble, and a glass rose to the top, showing a black figure filling the wet, convex reflection. She glared up to see a young Blutbad there, teeth bared and ready to smash the kitchen window. She allowed the heat from her hands travel up through her body and exploded in full woge at him, allowing her voice to screech up to the top pitch like a siren and all her below-decks viciousness to break forth. She hoped there was enough of it.

There was. The Blutbad leapt five feet backwards, crashed against the awning post and scrambled away as fast as possible, wide-eyed and hysterical.

She waited for him to completely disappear before tucking her hair back behind her ears and smoothing it.

"Young people, these days. So easily distracted."

She dried her hands off, trying to be happy about her little moment of cynicism, but couldn't stop shaking. And she really hated herself for her growing upset giving way to proper tears as she called Sean and he said he'd be right over.

She felt like a defenceless old woman.

Freya gritted her teeth and pointed at a horrid little ornament on her phone table that she'd kept for years for no good reason except that it was made for her by a mouldy aunt. The ornament lifted into the air and she sent it smashing against the far wall.

She was _not_ a defenceless old woman.

**X x X**

_**TBC…**_


	13. Key clues, Catnip, and other crises

**Good evening all! Many, many thanks for the reviews, follows and favourites since chapter 12, and I'm **_**sorry**_** to keep you waiting. Foggy head and bad back have combined to thwart me. Plus, this is a big chapter as usual (of late) to make up for the smaller last one, lol. **

**Lots of stuff going on… Anyway, I hope you enjoy!**

**Many hugs and cookies…**

**X x X**

"That text's taken you about ten minutes now, Nick!"

It would probably take less long with his eyes open, Nick reckoned, but his vodka was threatening to make a cameo reappearance and Denny's corners were like a live demonstration of centrigugal force, flinging him into the window at the right and over the handbrakes on the left. Nick deleted a couple of lines of gibberish from his message to Monroe, left it at 'really sorry', and copied it to Rosalee.

"I was just apologising. I left him in such a mire with Rosie. God... what a stunt to pull! If I'd been sober enough to remember her whole 'Island of Dreams' nightmare..."

"His parents were _lovely_, weren't they?" Denny chuckled ruefully and stuck some gravel into his voice in imitation of Eddie's father. "'Shall I put him outside for you, son?' Bloody hell. Charmer. And the arsehole startled me into leaving my jam behind."

"Your jam will live to stick another day."

"True. You alright though, mate? Really? Because frankly, we were all a bit worried."

"Better than I thought I'd be." And it was true. There was a deep ache whenever he thought about it being finally done with Juliette, but the deeper ache of constantly thwarted hope was gone. It wasn't like it didn't hurt. But it felt like the hurt had been neatly tucked under some kind of hatchway and could be safely released in small doses. For once, he didn't feel like he was bottling stuff up.

"Good. If you want to talk though... talk." Den gave him a sympathetic slap on the shoulder that turned his arm into a numb length of spaghetti and he was still shaking feeling back into his fingers as Denny zipped through the plush avenues of the West Hills and braked sharply at the end of Jan's drive.

Nick felt his brain bounce backwards and forwards a few times as the seatbelt locked hard against him. He gripped his head and groaned. "Are you in some mad hurry?"

Den shrugged. "Not a _mad_ hurry, but I've got to get over to Wu's to finishing up Bud's FILF calendar. It's his birthday on Sunday, so we're a bit pressed for time, now."

"_Filth_ calendar?"

"Nah, FILF! F-I-L-F. Fridges-I'd-like-to-fix."

"Keep an eye out for the SMEG 250. Beautiful hinges on that one." Nick's cell rang as Denny chuckled and trotted up the driveway. "Hey Hank, I'm on my way in. I just need a change of clothes."

"Damn good news, because I'll be needing the help. Sorry man, I know you'll have had a hard night. You sober enough?"

"Yeah." He was fine. Now left with a horrible hangover, but operative.

"Ellis Barnes has just turned up dead."

That woke Nick up instantly. "What?"

"Nine mil hole in the back of his neck. A cleaner working at the junkyard dog called it in. Captain Wilson buzzed over from Gresham to let me know. And get this, Franco reported a weird-ass tattoo on the 'vic's' body."

"On his palm?"

"Where else? Pretty new, still tinged red."

"Right, see you in an hour."

Nick did his best attempt at a jog going up Jan's path, wishing he could get rid of the fricking plaster and boot, already. He was getting itchy. He'd just banged in through the latched door, when he saw a hubbub round the couch. He clumped over and caught his breath at Livvy's colour: face and lips were the stark white of a Victorian Bath, and Stef was trying to wake her while Denny sat behind, calmly taking her vitals. Jan walked Carianne up and down while quietly calling for a bus.

"What's wrong?"

"Not sure. She's been out for about five minutes, now. It might be a TIA."

"Mini-stroke," Stefan translated, seeing his confusion. "Her leg's not been healing very well, so it's possible that a clot's broken off and got stuck somewhere."

Nick squinted at her face and thought he could see a slight blue corona around her. Blue? White seemed to be happy, pink-to-maroon showed a spectrum from irritated to furious, but blue was a new one on him. "It might be more complicated than that. Anyone got her cellphone? I need to call the lovely Dr Andersen."

"I've already left a message," Jan said tersely, "telling her to kindly extract herself from her gripping lecture and call you back regarding her VERY ILL daughter. Who knows, she might ring back in a couple of days."

"She's glowing blue." The guys stared at him. "She gives off an aura in different moods. I'm the only one that can see them."

"C'MON LIVVY!" Denny shook her shoulder again, and quite a lot of her rolled with the motion, but her face didn't change at all. "Come on love, shift a lid for us… can we open some windows?"

Stef leapt up to do that just as Dr Andersen called Nick back, and he put her on speaker in case she could tell them something that Denny would find important. Her voice barked impatiently over the line.

"What's wrong with Livvy?"

"We don't know yet. She passed out and won't wake u―"

"Has she seen a doctor or had any scans?"

Nick held his temper. "No, because she's literally just―"

"It would be good if you had some concrete information to report when you call."

"It would be good if you could let me finish a sentence!"

"Are you going to ring back with an update?"

"STAY ON THE LINE!" Nick curled his fists into balls. "What's a blue glow?"

There was a moment's quiet. "A _blue _glow? No, it's angry _male_ Andersens that glow blue, unless….Wow. I didn't know she could do that. She's empathising. She must have grown up."

_Can I hit her? _Stef mouthed at him, with clear pantomime. _If she turns up, that is?_

Nick gave him the thumbs up. He wouldn't arrest Stef for that. Give him a medal, maybe… he turned back to his interrogation. "Blue glow. Keep explaining."

"You have terseness issues, Mr Burkhardt. But then again, you are a Grimm. Alright… presumably you're familiar with her tendency to make you think she's reading your mind during a conversation?"

"Yes," they chorused.

"That sounded like a _lot_ of men. Anyway, the female blue glow, according to my mother's notes, is the outer expression of the biological process of empathy. Andersens _appear_ to be able to read minds because we connect with people and interpersonal relationships on a deep level very quickly, and everything else is surmised through intelligence and body-cues. Sir Conan Doyle was an Andersen. Did you know that? It explains a great deal about Sherlock Holmes' observation skills. Anyway, when we get close to people, we experience their turmoil first hand."

Nick smiled tightly, thinking it explained more about her clinical approach to human relationships. Tuvé Andersen had even less charm than Sherlock Holmes. "Well… most humans in any kind of relationship goes through that. It's called 'caring about people'."

"Don't be sarcastic. I said it's a biological process, not a social skill. If we get _too_ close to someone who's really troubled, we physically take on the stress. Our metabolism literally shuts down in protest until we can assimilate it properly and release it safely. Let me just ask… have you been stressed lately? Has there been a lot of 'poor diddums' hugging going on? And how are you now?"

Ignoring the 'diddums', Nick suddenly felt sick, remembering that Livvy had pretty much insisted on falling asleep on him earlier in the week. And now he was dealing with the Juliette thing… pretty well. Stef sunk down to his knees next to Livvy, looking like he'd just been punched. She'd spent most of the week with him at the wesen wellness centre, and he'd been walking around re-living 'ghost ship' in his head since his rescue ship had docked. And he was a hell of a lot better. If she'd been soaking up _his _stress… god help her.

Jan walked over to the phone, jiggling Carrie on his hip. "Does the empathising process require direct, continuous physical contact?"

"Yes. Sex doesn't count, by the way. The serotonin counteracts the build-up of cortisol."

"I wasn't referring to sex," Jan snapped, but looked troubled as Nick met his eyes. "She's been hugging Theo a lot this week, and he's dealt with Stefan's rogue woge far better than I was expecting him to. Possibly not a coincidence."

"How many guys has she been hugging?" Dr Andersen sounded shocked on the other end of the line.

"Seems like three," Nick muttered. But Jan raised his hand. "Er… four. What was up with you?"

"It was a light-hearted squeeze after I'd had a moan about parents' night."

"Well, that should be ok." Nick noted that Denny had his hand up, looking anguished. "Five! Denny…?"

"Chelsea lost 2-0 to Swansea on Wednesday. SWANSEA. Bit upset."

Jan put a hand on Denny's shoulder. "I'm sure you didn't contribute significantly to her physical distress."

"I dunno, mate. It was a tense, tense match and I was using her as an emergency cushion for most of it."

Nick caught the flashing blues through the corner of the window. "Look, we've got paramedics showing up in less than a minute. How do we pull her out of this?"

"She'll be fine! She really needs to sleep it off. It sounds like she's been spreading herself a little thinly, hence her current state of exhaustion, but she'll get through it."

Denny glared up from his repeated vitals check and raised his voice for the microphone. "Her pulse is under 55, and she's the colour of bloody milk. We are NOT leaving her to sleep this off."

"How long were you out last time you did this?"

"I can't remember. It's been a long time since I empathised."

Nick gave a short crack of sarcastic laughter. "You shock me!"

"Well, you can see what it does to us, so can you blame me? Look, she'll be fine. By the sounds of things, she has a huge group of guys making a complete fuss of her. When she wakes up, she'll think she's in heaven."

He ground his teeth so hard he thought he felt a molar moving. "What's that got to do with anything?"

"She has a weakness for good-looking men. Always has done. She falls fast and hard and doesn't give herself any breathing space before the next guy comes along. So don't go on some kind of group guilt trip, because I don't think she even knew she could empathise in this productive way. I never told her about it. It's much more likely that she was hugging for… recreational purposes."

Nick gaped. The woman couldn't even allow for the possibility that Livvy might have discovered the ability herself, and applied it deliberately. How, _how _was this woman a psychiatrist? "What is your problem with her? Did she kick you too much in the womb or something? Dribble milk on your exam papers?"

"Mr Burkhardt, you do _not_ get to judge me. You didn't raise Livvy, I did. And she was a handful, I can tell you. She craved attention to a point that that became unmanageable. No doubt I'll see you hovering at her bedside, so I'll explain then. If you'll excuse me, I'm going to look up flight times."

"Don't." The simple instruction snapped out of him as Denny and Stefan helped the paramedics lift Livvy onto a gurney and lead her out. Stef grabbed his coat at the door as well as Denny's, clearly determined to go with her. Good. For all his worries about the meeting of fragile minds, Stefan clearly cared a lot about her. He had to give the guy credit for that.

Dr Andersen's voice cut back in, sounding irate. "So you call me, give me abuse about not caring, and then tell me to stay away?"

"Yeah," Nick said. "Because right now, you're toxic."

"Excuse me?"

"As far as I'm concerned, you lost your right to claim 'motherly concern' when you left it four days to call back after she _got shot_. You just stay where you are."

"And you're going to keep me away, how?"

"If it comes to that, I'm pretty sure that Jan's got enough next of kin details to ensure that you're met at the gates of Portland International and forbidden entry on the grounds of harassment. Don't try me."

"I'd waste time complaining about your abuse of power, but you don't even have a photo of me. So, good luck with that."

Nick thought he was ready to combust with fury, when Jan leant over the phone.

"Dr Andersen? This is her boss, Jan. I thought I'd just let you know that one of our friends has your latest book. A 2012 edition with a nice clear photo. I'm sure we can scan it without too much bother. Stay away, please. Sincerely. You'll do her far more harm than good right now."

"And if she turns out to be really ill? How are you going to explain why you failed to keep me updated?"

"It's very kind of you to worry about how I plan to cover my pastoral duties, but I'll be contacting her father, too. The moment you start sounding a little warmer, we'll start responding again."

"This is how I talk. Livvy's used to this. She would find anything else suspicious and weird."

"Well, _change_ how you talk, or fuck off."

As Jan ended the call with a light tap of his finger, Nick blinked a few times, laughing helplessly. "Jan! You swore!"

"Well, it has to happen from time to time, or people like that would make me pop. God… what a bitch."

"I've no idea how Livvy turned out so normal."

Jan raised his brows. "Livvy? Normal?"

"Alright, maybe not 'normal'. But not bitter-and-twisted, either." He checked his watch and swore inwardly. "I hate to do this right now, but I really need to go into work―"

"I'm taking Carrie with me to visit Barry Rabe. I'll give you a lift."

"Thanks."

"And we need to talk. I know you need this right now like a poke in the eye with a sharp stick, but the package Stefan was meant to deliver contained a key."

"What?" Nick stared, but knew that Jan wouldn't mess with him about something like that. "Does Renard know?"

"He will do. Remus will speak to him."

"Ok… give it to me later, and I'll 'get rid of it'."

Jan gazed at him levelly as they grabbed Carrie's changing bag and paused at the door. "Are you going to tell me where you put it?"

"No."

"Thank you. I'll be here for you in _every_ other way…"

"Yeah… it's fine." Nick shook the outstretched hand fiercely. Of course he wouldn't tell Jan. He was a father, now. There was no way he was putting the guy in the position of being secret-keeper. Him, or Monroe. Or Rosalee. Or Denny, Wu, Hank or anyone else. But... just for security... he would tell Renard. He might need back-up some time if he needed to reach the keys before someone else did... both his own, and this new one. Renard had 'resources'. Maybe it was time to finally trust his Captain again.

**X x X**

Sean took rapid notes as the guy from the UN despatch office reeled out the contact details for the officer who'd sent Stef's team to the sunken ship (rather than one which was thirty miles closer to the 'endangered vessel'), and at the end of all this useful information, pointed out that there was already an arrest warrant out. The officer had gone AWOL at the end of his shift with a grossly inflated bank account. Sean thanked the man and hung up the phone, his head swimming with all the intel now flooding in.

Firstly, last night, from Stefan: his overdue email attaching pictures of a pregnant Adalind Schade, possibly about five months gone. Alright, not his problem for the immediate future, but he'd be keeping a damn good eye ― from a distance ― on how that child was raised. Which meant more spies. Great. Secondly, his call from Remus, letting him know about the discovery of the second key given to Stefan by Jaco de Groot. He'd have to pass Friedrich his condolences in a week or so. When Jaco's death became public knowledge. Thirdly… the updated email from Stefan, giving him details of his first 'informal' chat with other guys from the despatch office, who were glad to hear from him and happy to spill dirt on the guy who'd split after the 'boat disaster'.

Sean rubbed his eyes, idly staring down at Stefan's brief message: _Please re-check mail. Not a __coincidence that I was sent to __the__ boat __with the__ key on board?_

Stefan Hendricks was turning into a very, very useful person to have around. It was a shame he was in such bad shape: he'd fly through the detective fast-track training, but would probably flunk every psych test going, right now.

He had no doubt that if further investigations were made, he'd find that Francine Vergeer or GQR were behind the bribes to make that officer redirect Stef's rescue team and then run. But he very much doubted that Stefan was meant to get the key. It seemed more likely that the manoeuvre was simply meant to kill two birds with one stone: the cracher mortel was placed onboard to get the key from Jaco de Groot, and it was a convenient opportunity to dispense with Stefan. Except he'd survived.

The one thing Sean couldn't get his head around was how insanely greedy Jan's sister must be. No high-profile family likes to suddenly have to admit the presence of an outside 'child' in the mix, he knew that perfectly well for himself. But for Francine Vergeer to persecute her half-brother and try to murder him over 7 million euros, redistributed in a will? That was a drop in the ocean for the Vergeers. It made NO sense. Unless she had wider plans for that money. Verrat plans, for example.

His mind turned back to the horrible thought of an Adalind-Eric infant. Adalind for a mother and Eric for a father… who was worse? Genuinely, he couldn't make his mind up on that one. And he had too many years of experience to tell him how much value Eric placed on the life of a half-hexenbiest. Like Francine, Eric seemed to be losing his grip on sanity. The last time he'd seen his brother, he'd waxed lyrical about how different things would be for Royals once the Verrat had done their job and begun the process of limiting human control over everything. Politics. Health. War. They could properly _be _Royals.

Sean got up and walked over to his window, staring at the people massed down on the concrete, getting on with their everyday lives. That would never do for Eric. His brother needed banners, crowds and grovelling, and he was getting none of that. The only people to recognise Eric's royalty were his staff, timid wesen who kept their gaze averted, or the Verrat. And his ego was creaking under the lack of fealty.

The physical strain was painful: Sean recognised that. But whereas his temper flares and bursts of adrenaline gave release in a woge, when he allowed such a thing to happen, Eric didn't have that option. His frustration and rage curdled inwards. It was the Royal curse. On one hand, the possession of an ability to talk most people into just about anything. On the downside, the deep, physical yearning for adulation and recognition. Perhaps it was a gift to be only half-Royal. He'd had times where he'd been frustrated with his comparatively lowly impact as a Police Captain, compared to his brother's outward reach as a Captain of European Industry, but he'd never had the same desperation for power that Eric apparently did. Except when he'd tried keeping hold of the coins of Zakynthos. Not really his finest moment.

He turned at the sound of loud sobbing and an awkward rapping on the door. Sean waved in Franco, who ushered Freya into one of his seats.

"Uh… she's done with the sketch artist, Sir."

"Thank you."

Franco scrambled out and Sean approached slowly, sitting in the chair next to her rather in his usual Captain's throne. "How are you?"

Freya snatched her face out of her hankie and glared at him. "Sean, that was _undignified!_ What in God's name were you expecting me to tell that poor artist? 'Ooo, he had huge red eyes, a hairy face and a severely pointy overbite'? I didn't see him as a human!"

He smiled reluctantly. "I'm sorry. That was for the form of things, really. If I bring you into the precinct after an attempted home raid, there's due process to follow."

"They're all watching us, you know. Wondering what's so special about me that you'd come collect me yourself." Freya blew her nose and kept her face away from the window. "I've tried to make things a little easier by insisting on seeing you and _only_ you, in my capacity as the head of the neighbourhood watch. But now you need to pat my shoulder nervously… or grip it meaningfully, whatever works best for you… and do a lot of serious nodding. And tell me, loudly and entirely mendaciously, that everything's going to be O-KAY."

"Why?"

"Because this is what men do when faced with an unnerving amount of female distress!"

"No it's not. Besides, you're not facing me with an unnerving―" Sean sat back in genuine alarm as she ramped up the volume of her traumatised sobs, which were not at all muffled by her hanky. Jesus. He began patting urgently, as instructed, and met Hank's eyes through his glass office wall, signing him into the room with a jerk of his head.

Hank let himself in and shut the door behind, kneeling down and gripping her shoulder firmly. "Ma'am, it's going to be alright."

Sean ignored the triumphant gleam in Freya's eyes. "Where's Burkhardt?"

"On his way. He's just called. Livvy's really sick. A bus picked her up from Jan's place."

He frowned. "Who's with her?"

"Stefan."

"Good." Sean let out a sigh. He'd check in on her later. "I'm going to hazard a guess right now that you don't have any useful forensics on Doyle or Ellis Barnes?"

"No cigars. Even Doyle's CCTV only shows the back of the head of the guy he was talking to before he got shot leaving the store. But... we do have prints on your porch-post and your back door handle, Mrs North. And an ID and address. Blutbad or not, he's going down. As soon as Nick gets here―"

The door burst open. "Here! Freya? You ok?"

"Some little asshole tried to break into her place this morning. Blutbad for hire, like at the wesenfest."

Nick grabbed Freya's shoulders and gazed at her seriously. "We'll get him."

Sean rolled his eyes. "Yes, we've been through this part. Look, this is going to be impossible to deal with as cops. I know who's behind this. Gabriel Soutaines. Initially a US citizen but living in Lyons for the last 15 years. He's popped on Remus' radar a few times."

"Remus?" Freya asked, and Sean kicked himself for starting this with her still in the room. Still, she needed to know what was going on if she was going to stay safe. And ... it was good to have another Biest to bounce ideas off.

"Head of Interpol. And other sources."

"Oh. 'Other sources'."

"He operates like a ghost. He's completely anonymous, and doesn't take the Verrat tattoo. He doesn't leave his face anywhere and he doesn't leave forensics. He uses other people, and then gets rid of them. Hence the murder of Ellis Barnes. My suspicion is that Barnes was at the Winterfest to pick a fight with Denny to distract from Soutaines walking around and seeing who your friends are."

Nick's face pinched a little. "He's going after them?"

Sean rubbed the back of his neck. "Not specifically. I think he's playing the longer game and seeing how well protected or connected you are. He's not stupid. He's a meticulous planner."

"What's he planning?" Hank asked.

"He wants your key. Or keys, now." Sean held Nick's gaze, no longer caring that Freya was still in the room. He'd seen the psycho-kinetic mess she'd made of her living room with her own horrid little ornaments. 'Indulging a hissy fit', she'd called it, but she was powerful. A good person to have onside.

"For himself, or for your brother?"

"That's a very good question. Soutaine's an assassin. I wouldn't put it past him to take money from my brother and double-cross him after."

Freya gasped. "Are you talking about the Swabia keys? I thought those got destroyed years ago?"

Sean stared at her, along with the others. "You know the history?"

"Quite a few Hexenbiests got tortured trying to steal those keys. Serves them right, but still. Those were the kind of details that stood out in our history lessons when we were young." She sighed. "You know... I'm feeling kind of stupid right now. All that talk of heirlooms between the Kesslers and the Burkhardts. It kind of makes sense that Reed would be trying to hide his key and let the others stay hidden, whereas the girls were the types of Grimm that would be trying to collect them."

"Hey, forgive the smell of human ignorance in the room, but what the hell do these keys lead to?"

Freya sighed. "According to legend, a bunker in the Black Forest that contains a zaubertranks."

"That do what?" Nick asked.

"That create Blutbaden, Siegbarstes, Dirkfellig… the bigger wesen. And Grimms."

Sean felt his blood go cold and shuddered, pleased to see that Nick had slightly paled, too. The idea of Eric with a Grimm-creating zaubertrank to hand... "Are you sure?"

"No, like I say, it's legend. But it's a remarkably consistent one, for once. And there's evidence to suggest that it works. I'll talk you through it some time."

Hank pulled a face. "There's been potions sitting on a shelf all this time?"

"Heavens, no! They would curdle something awful. They involve milk. They'd probably even grow legs and walk away by themselves. I mean the write-ups for the potions. The 'recipe cards', if you like."

"Ok. Enough information." Hank puffed out an overwhelmed breath, but Sean was pleased to see his Lieutenant climb right back on the horse, like he always did. "Well, the Doyle and Ellis cases are going into cold storage pretty quickly, so what now?"

"Let's round up the shit that tried frightening Freya and see what we can get from him," Nick said suddenly, straightening up. "Then put protective detail on her home. I'm not having my friends threatened just because 'someone' is getting greedy."

"Greed's more powerful than you think," Hank muttered, and Sean nodded, remembering the...

Fuck. His breathing accelerated in his chest. GQR sourced wesen artefacts... what if the keys weren't the _only_ things they were trying to get their hands on? What if they'd managed to get the coins? It fitted. Eric's obsession with wesen monarchy, Francine's determination to get Stefan's money...

"Nick... what happened to the Zakynthos coins?" Sean grabbed Nick's shoulders harder than he meant to, but the Grimm didn't flinch. "I know you know how they disappeared. Where are they now?"

"I don't know." The colour dropped out of Nick's face. "They were... meant to be destroyed."

"Call your mom," Freya said suddenly, and Nick looked at her with the same degree of shock that Sean felt.

"Your mother is... still alive?"

"Nick, this is no time for bullshitting, sweetheart. A guy only goes that white when he realises that something's not right with someone close, and everyone else in your life is accounted for, yes? Besides, only another Grimm could've handled the coins long enough to hide or destroy them, so unless you did that yourself..."

"I'll call her on the way." Nick checked the clip in his Glock and reholstered savagely. "We need to move right now. If this break-in guy was paid by Soutaines, I don't want him shot before we get to speak to him."

Sean watched Nick and Hank stalk off, feeling a weird flush of relief to learn that Kelly had never died. More than a few of Marie's observations about his non-Royal ways of working had freaked him out over the years, though he'd never show it. He'd always hated the idea that she was never far away, keeping an eye on his operations as well as never straying far from her nephew. If she was passing on observations from Kelly, it would at least explain why she seemed to able to be everywhere at once.

Freya closed the door firmly and walked towards him. "Sean… this family of yours that you 'kind of divorced' way back when... they're Royals, aren't they? _You're _the Prince of Portland."

He nodded.

"Goodness me. Well, get yourself some nice soft carpet and I'll do the knee-bow, sometime. Until then, I'd love a cup of tea. And that 24/7 security detail on my home."

Sean couldn't help grinning. This would not be the kind of grovelling his brother would welcome. "And what do I get out of this, apart from the knee-bow?"

"Telekinesis lessons." She bounced her brows. "I know you want them."

: : : : :

"Nick, she'll text back. Or call. Cool your guns. Or at least stop trying to pound the shit out of my car door, alright?"

Calm down? Jesus, he couldn't. The thought of his mom being separated from the keys… something had to have happened to her.

"She's a Grimm," Hank added unnecessarily. "All that scary fight stuff you can do? You got it from somewhere, you know. And from Monroe's anecdotal evidence, she's one of the more frightening people on this earth. I'm pretty sure she can look after herself. Have faith."

"I do." Nick ground his fingers into his palms. "But she's my mom."

"I hear you." Hank swung into the Cully neighbourhood, followed the street signs down to the beat-down, panel-slatted home registered to nasty-ass Tristan Becker and parked up. "Now, here's how it's going to go. I'm heading up to the door to check things out. You are going to stay in or by the car and remember that your foot is broken. Got that?"

Nick raised his brows at his buddy. "You pulling rank, here?"

"You bet your ass, I am. I am technically responsible for what happens to you, right now."

"I'll watch the back door."

"You will not! People always explode out through the back door!"

"And they'll trip over my boot." Nick shrugged. "Come on. You seriously cannot leave me to fester in the car."

Hank glared at him darkly. "You can lurk by that tree. Come any closer and I'll put you out myself. Got that?"

Nick wasn't given the chance to answer. Hank strode up to the front door and Nick watched him carefully as he went inside, the door left slightly ajar. His hand slipped under his jacket and rested on the handle of his Glock. He felt jumpy. And therefore damn near leapt in the air when his cell buzzed.

_Thanks for texting. Talk soon. We need to. M x_

A great gale of relief lifted him and he leant back against the tree, eyes closed, almost chuckling as the payload of dread eased away. But he was meant to be on watch, so he straightened up. And then felt cold, and he knew that sensation immediately: someone really close by, meaning harm. Like someone almost right on top of him. Nick snapped his eyes open and looked up. Nothing in the tree. In the back of his mind, he saw a gun butt coming down on his head and moved out to the side of the tree, slamming his elbow backwards. He made instant contact with something slightly soft behind him, then flicked his knuckles up and back, cracking into a nose.

He whirled round, gun out and pointed down the sightline at the head of a bloody-faced kid sprawled on the crispy, half-dead grass who matched his photo on the police database pretty easily. Hank ran out from the house and bent by the kid, putting two fingers to his pulse, then checking for rib and sternum damage.

"Well… he's still with us, just about. Call a bus, will ya?"

"_He_ snuck up on _me_," Nick muttered, dialling for dispatch.

"Yeah, I saw. I'm not contesting the self-defence element here, but man… you SMACKED him! That elbow jab made him bend like a damn banana. Were you trying to knock him into 2015 or 2016?"

Nick shrugged, not really caring either way. He hadn't hit him _that _hard. The kid was alive, had been punished for frightening Freya, and would remain under police watch away from Soutaines until Sean got to speak to him. He decided that their Captain could do that, since he'd kind of gotten close to her. And his Mom was ok. For now. He decided he'd ride in with the bus, and check on Livvy at the same time.

**X x X**

Jan ran through the last part of the running order with Wilkes as people took their seats in the orangery of the Brockman Botanical Centre, and he recognised a hell of a lot of people in the audience. It was bravery awards first ― all members of the federation were under strict instructions to keep the earnest hand-shaking brief and non-sarcastic ― and then he had the keynote speech on safety partnerships to deliver. Wilkes kept his voice low and finished off the late entries as they stood behind the lectern on the stage. Jan coughed slightly at the smoke coming up through the grate behind the lectern. The scent was subtle, but it was still like standing on top of a batch of over-enthusiastic incense sticks.

"We have two more awards than names, though, Jan."

"I added Mr Arnold Rosarot and Mr Barry Rabe to the awards list yesterday, if that's alright. They both showed exceptional gallantry during the raid on the Bavarian fair last Sunday."

"Alright, so long as everything's accounted for." Wilkes handed the cards back to Jan and smiled. "I checked in on Livvy, earlier. She seems to be doing better, even if she is sleeping for Oregon. One last thing…. Helen's retirement do… is _next Saturday_. It's a surprise, alright? I don't care what you've got in your diary. Cancel it, get a babysitter and gird your liver. And bring your boyfriend. He looks like he can contain rowdy people."

"He _is_ the rowdy people, Sir."

Wilkes chuckled and trotted off to talk to one of the Botanical Centre staff about a low-level herb fire underground, pointing at the plumes arising behind the lectern. Jan just heard him mutter about 'off-putting whiffs of near-cannabis,' sending the man scuttling off to find out what was going on. A moment later, his regrettably good hearing caught an irritated argument between the staff-member and some contractor guy, who said he was just following instructions, but yeah, he'd put the stock-fire out if it was that frickin' important.

Wilkes took his seat next to Hank, joined shortly by Nick, who'd barely pulled himself away from the Professor of Legume Biology. Jan's head swum slightly, and he took his full tumbler of water down in one go. The audience hushed, the spotlights were focussed, and he began the MC job that Sean had gone out of his way to avoid.

Thankfully the smoke stopped altogether after about five minutes: it made the bravery award recipients splutter, too. The incidents covered a year: February to January. A Maushertz shop-keeper performed CPR on a customer in the middle of an armed raid. Two elderly sisters had toddled out of their home and given first aid to a car-crash victim, right next to a raging inferno… it warmed his heart to introduce all of these local heroes to the ones they'd saved, who handed over their awards. The events covered the J-induced siege of Klaustreich at Tennants Bar in October, and Nick hopped up on stage to award Denny the key to the city for protective services to two cops and a civilian. Hank was meant to present Stefan with his award, but it was done in absentia. Stefan wouldn't leave Livvy's bedside.

Winterfest day, and Barry Rabe swaggered up to take his award from Jan directly for his protection of the children in the tent, including Theo and Carianne. Jan grinned to note Rabe's new girlfriend Carly sitting near the back in a pretty burgundy dress, beaming with pride. Given Rabe's Juvie record, he thought the gallantry award might sweeten things a little with Jerrold, Carly's dad. The guy clapped with heavy reluctance, but the respect was there. Slightly. Arnold Rosarot took his award from Henri the Mauvais for smacking a nearly-attacker with a tent peg at the last minute. There was a ten minute intermission, after which Jan felt absolutely shit as he stood up to give his talk. The first three quarters went well, and then his tongue dried up and he found it hard to enunciate.

He looked down at his card of note themes and the letters took on a pyrotechnic blur effect. Shit. And he was sweating. He looked over to Denny, who sat at the back of the hall in his pale grey suit, with his tie off and light blue shirt open, showing quite a good amount of collar bone and muscle tone, fiddling with his Portland Key.

Jan felt an ache begin between his legs and stepped behind the lectern ― _right _behind the lectern ― in alarm.. Focus… _focus!_

"Of course, most people rely on the emergency services to sweep up all the damage after a crime has been committed, which is what you are entitled to expect. But this evening has been about the public recognition of those… those rare people…" Jan fought off light-headedness, "who step in and do what they think is right and necessary to help others, even in the face of extreme danger. And we all owe them a debt of gratitude. What we all have in common in Portland, regardless of where we're from, is the right to defy the disastrous effects that anti-social shirts can have upon us."

_Hell!_

Just as he thought he might get away with that, Jan saw Hank nudge Nick, and the pair of them started checking their dress uniforms for signs of antisocial behaviour with a degree of urgency that he knew was designed to make him giggle. Dammit, this was a serious and solemn occasion, given to those who had shown courage. He was NOT going to giggle. He resumed full sternness and tried to gloss over it.

"...and the effects of anti-social behaviour, of course, could blight us all if not for these people. Let's all thank them very much."

As the applause broke out, he leant hard down on the lectern and pressed himself off stage and down to the side, trying not to wobble too noticeably. He noticed Denny pressing up from his feet at the back, looming over everyone else in the audience and dipping smoothly and athletically through the crowd as he wound his way over. Jan stumbled off as fast as he could move without being conspicuously clumsy. He could barely see for the blaze of colour and the heat... and he'd developed a light, tickly sensation at the top of his brain.

Men's room. He needed the men's room. NOW.

He passed through the Orangery atrium and the canapé snacks, and slammed to a halt at the scent of smoked mackerel and gravadlax. The wrap was being taken off all the trays and he sidled towards the table, following his nose. He nearly had a handful of salmon-wrapped crackers when he slammed his hand shut into a ball. He was _not _going to raid the table for the fish. Not. Public event, professional dignity…. God…

Speeding to an uncoordinated jog, Jan blundered into a cubicle in the men's room and slammed the slide-lock shut, bracing his head in his hands. What was he? Drugged? High? He felt high. And horny. And achey and tired. He wanted to sprawl on Denny and go to sleep. Or something. _NO!_

Pulling at his tie, Jan flopped his face against the stone cold tile wall of the cubicle. It woke him up fractionally, enough to realise that he needed his tie off altogether, and his shirt a little looser, and maybe two quarts of water to drink. But his fingers wouldn't behave. He ripped his shirt open under his tie to get some cold air on his skin, and when that didn't stop the burning and lightheadedness, he turned to the back wall and peered up to the pull-out round latch on the top window. It was about nine feet or so up. Just manageable, so long as he didn't crash over sideways. He stood on the seat of the toilet, leapt and snagged the latch with his finger, letting icy air into the rest room. It made him feel better immediately, apart from that really slowly growing ache in his loins. He rested against the wall of the cubicle for a while, eyes closed, trying to get himself together.

: : : : :

"Jan, you've been bloody ages. You alright in there?" Denny paused to let the fella answer, then knocked a little harder. "Jan! Alarming me a bit, now..."

"S'methin's wrong with my head. And my balls."

"Your balls—what?" FUCK! CATNIP ALERT! "Right! Officially alarmed! Get that door open in ten seconds or stand on the toilet seat."

There was a groggy pause, but Jan's voice came back reasonably clearly, if a little hesitant. "I'll try to get the door open. On the toilet seat… why?"

"Because if you can't manage the lock, I don't want to brain you when I kick the door in!"

"What's going on?"

Denny jumped a little and turned to see Commandant Wilkes standing right behind him. Fuck… how to explain? "Um... I'm not sure. I think he's had a bit of a ... reaction to… something. But this isn't 'Jan'."

"Damn right this isn't 'Jan'. Antisocial shirts aren't high on his list of priorities."

Denny whipped back round as the lock disengaged and Jan stumbled out, his hair a mess, dress uniform rumpled, and gallantry badges askew. And his eyes crossed.

"Denny!"

"Shit!" He braced Jan's weight as he dropped forward, his arms draped round his shoulders in a boneless, clumsy hug. "Um... yeah, alright... could you try and use your legs? You're not the lightest bloke around."

"Jesus. He can't even stand up properly." Wilkes helped to disentangle Jan and pulled one arm over his shoulders while Denny took the other arm. "Jan, listen. Does anything hurt?"

"Yes, my b―"

"Is there any chance anything was slipped in your drink?" Denny cut in hastily.

"I haven't been… drinking." Jan got his head up with a degree of determination. "Wouldn't do that before speaking." Then he flopped down again.

"I know THAT. I can smell alcohol from about twenty yards, trust me." Wilkes met Denny's eyes in concern. "It's like he's been given acid, or something. Whatever, that's one for later. There's a door over there which leads to the butterfly house, which has an exit onto the car park. We're going to march quickly that way. On three, go."

They managed about ten yards before Jan's situation escalated.

"Wow, your aftershave's powerful."

Denny rolled his eyes. "Well, get your face off my neck, then."

"Nice powerful, though. Not... overpowering. Just.. wow."

"Jan! Stop wittering and start walking!" He could feel his face burning at Wilkes' barely constrained smirk. Jan tried putting a little more oomph into his gait, and Denny gave him a light squeeze of appreciation. "Better, thank you."

"So bossy."

"Someone has to be!"

"Did I ever tell you you're masterful when you're irritated?"

"SHUT UP AND STRIDE!" Denny took the majority of Jan's weight as they made their way through to the car park and loaded the languid Koninglowen into the front passenger seat of the Toyota.

"Kids!" Jan blurted suddenly, eyes wide. "I can't… be like this. What about the kids?"

"They're at Janie and Bud's overnight. Don't get stressed. Look at me… head up. Come on…" Denny took Jan's jaw in his hand and kept his face still, relieved that Jan's dad mode was still firmly switched on at least. "Your pupils are blown wide."

"Is that why you're blue and green?"

Wilkes pulled a face. "I'll get Burkhardt. I think you'll need a little help, wherever you take him."

"Thanks, Sir." Denny watched the Area Commandant trot off, and turned back to Jan, who gave him a unfocussed smile, then flopped sideways, resting his head on his shoulder. He ruffled Jan's hair. "Silly sod."

"Sorry, Denn-ee. I'm _really _trying to... keep it together."

"I know."

"You guys alright?" Nick clumped over, still keeping up the broken-legged performance for Wilkes' benefit, and put his crutches to one side to help push Jan back up in his seat. "Jan?"

"My balls hurt."

Denny met Nick's wide-eyed gaze at this unwelcome information and shrugged. "Don't ask. Yet."

Wilkes shook his hand briefly. "Good luck straightening him out. Jan mentioned you were a paramedic?"

"Was once, yes. Starting refresher training again next week."

"So he's in good hands. Please tell him that I'd like to see him first thing Monday morning. I'll send him a text to remind him."

The guy was so easy-going that it was easy to forget that he was Jan's boss. Denny cleared his throat. "Look, this isn't his fault―"

"I didn't think it was. But a lot of people known to him and to Nick have been targeted in recent cases, so I can't pretend this hasn't happened. Nick, I'd like to speak to you, too, please. Same meeting."

As Wilkes strode away, Denny gunned the jeep's engine and stabbed out Monroe's number on the in-car Bluetooth system, setting it to speaker before reversing out. "Nick, could you ask him just to let us into the wellness centre? Tell him we have catnip problems. He'll know what I'm talking about."

"I _really _don't want to do this after our exit yesterday… dammit." Nick cringed as the ringtone continued, then fakely perked up his voice as the line engaged. "Monroe! I hate to do this to you, but―"

"Dude, I'll do anything for you. But, no Wildemen, Wendigoes, Dirkfellig, untamed Siegbarstes, rebellious Reinigen, feral Blutbaden, Hasslichen, Ziegvolken, or evil Hexenbiests."

"Deal. We've got a Koninglowen on catnip."

"Oh...CRAP! I thought that list was pretty comprehensive. I presume we're talking about Jan?"

"Yeah."

"How far along is it? Is he hallucinating, say?"

"Ah… he's not really, with it."

"Has he tried to lick you yet?"

"No!" Denny bellowed, not liking where this conversation was going, particularly given the appalled expression on Nick's face, and dawning confusion in what could pass for human on Jan's face. "Moving swiftly on, Eddie…"

"Why the hell would he try to lick me?"

"Oh, it's just the way of the romantic variety of Koninglowen. They've been known to try such things when it's a caring res…ponse….You're… right. He's _way_ more likely to try to lick Denny." Monroe's crap attempt at airiness faded. "Eh, Nick? This conversation is going really badly, so I'm just going to hand you over to Rosalee, now."

"Who you talking to?" they heard Pa Monroe demand in the background. "Is them the clock-suckers who was in your kitchen yesterday morning?"

Denny and Nick gaped at the rudeness.

"Honey, can you take the phone? Cause, like, I'm making my own life more stressful by the minute, here…"

There was a moment of angry murmuring between Monroes Senior and Junior, and then Rosalee came on the line.

"Hey Nick, Denny. A quick unpleasantly frank question, because we need to balance this brew. Jan's going to be very conflicted. He won't know whether to be hyperactive, or whether to have sex. Which way's he leaning?"

Denny swatted Jan's roaming hand off the handbrake. "He's multi-tasking!"

"Don't panic. Jan's very controlled. And once he's drunk the come-down stuff, it'll only take a half hour or so to kick in. Then he'll sleep like a log. Monroe will meet you there."

"Thanks Rosie," Nick said, as she hung up.

Denny kept half an eye on Jan as he drove. His mate had his legs crossed, arms crossed, and was breathing hard while curled up into the seat. He pulled into North West Park Avenue, taking them into the Pearl, and looked out for a nearby place to park so they wouldn't have far to drag Jan if he couldn't take his own weight, or if he got a bit pesky and needed to be calmed with a smack round the head.

"DENNY!"

Nick's yell startled him and in the same second his foot crunched the brake, he got a faceful of airbag and heard a deafening bang. Only slightly stunned, he fought the deflating bag away from his face and stared wildly out into the night, catching the eye reflection of a drunken balam in the headlights. His pulse came down slowly. He hadn't hit the balam. Or a post, or a wall….

"Nick, you alright?"

"Yeah! God... that noise, what the hell?―"

"JAN! Shit, you alright?" Denny scrambled sideways and pulled the burst bag off his mate's head. It was in shreds, and beneath it, Jan was wide-eyed and shaky, his face as red as if he'd been slapped repeatedly by a rejected Musai. Denny shook him lightly. "Jan?"

Jan pointed at his glowing face unsteadily, his voice small. "My teeth blew it up."

Despite the muffled snort from the back seat, Denny kept his face completely straight. "Oh dear. Ow. Shall we get you out, then?"

Between them, Denny and Nick unloaded Jan from the jeep and patrolled him slowly over to the back door of the spice store. He walked by himself ok, but kept looking back in suspicion and shock at the evil car that just gave him the fright of his life. After his third random mid-sidewalk pause, Denny took his hand and tugged him lightly towards the spice shop door and accepted Nick's offer to patrol the pavement in case the car snuck up on them. Jan was still peering nervously round the corner when Monroe pulled over.

He unlocked hastily, keeping a beady eye on Jan. "Ah... he seems to be... behaving ok? Dude! You ok? You look like Nick got revenge for the mackerel slap, using a small-to-medium piranha on you."

"Airbag," Jan summarised.

"I'm _sure_ Nick will explain."

Denny steered Jan down to the cots in the basement while Nick helped Monroe to put the come-down together. Once downstairs, Jan stood aimlessly in the middle of the room, not next to one cot or another, and Denny led him over to a bunk and ponked him down on the edge. Jan kicked his shoes off at least, but then seemed to get mentally stuck. It was like he was human outside and lowen inside and completely bewildered.

"Jacket now," Denny coaxed. "Give you a hand, shall I?"

Total cooperation helped, and Denny slid off jacket, shirt and trousers, laying them tidily to one side. "Right, lie down, then."

Jan pinged to his feet and Denny suddenly had his arms full of the guy. Not doing anything but hugging, but it was a fierce, fierce hug and he felt ribs creak. And a painful pressure at groin height. He gulped. Blimey. No wonder Jan kept going on about his balls. He must be trying really, _really_ hard to rein himself in. Denny patted the bare shoulder appreciatively.

"Um... right.. just loosen that cuddle up a little, please? Good lad. Let's get you lying flat before you get all light-headed, eh?"

He got Jan down on his side and was just standing when a very strong hand towed him down to the cot and it was either a case of sit, or do his back in trying to retrieve his arm. Nick and Monroe came downstairs with a glass of something bloody horrible-looking, but Jan was good about sitting and drinking it, even if he did pull a broad range of appalled expressions afterwards and try to clean his tongue with his forearm.

"We also have water!" Monroe offered, and Nick passed the glass gingerly to Jan, who got most of it down his throat. He slumped down again, thumping Denny down with him with an arm across the chest.

"Oi! Trying to have a chat here, soppy lowen!"

Monroe scratched the back of his head. "Ah... are you guys going to be ok here? Cause I said I'd give Nick a lift back if he wasn't needed, and after that, I really have to get home before Rosalee and my mom start playing musical meltdowns."

Denny pulled Jan's hand out of his shirt firmly. "Yeah, I'm a big lad. I'll be fine. Nick, you are relieved."

"I'm very, very relieved. Bye!"

Denny rolled his eyes as Nick and Monroe bolted up the stairs at a speed that totally belied the wearing of a plaster, or the permanent refusal to go jogging. He laid completely still as Jan got himself cosy, lying almost on top, with an arm and a leg draped over him. Typical bloody lowen. Such ungainly sleepers. He felt a tad… squished, frankly.

"Comfy, are you? Not too worried about me being able to breathe, or anything?"

"Nice'nwarm."

"Oh _good_."

Denny focussed on breathing shallowly, staring at the ceiling as Jan fidgeted. He wasn't going to get any sleep until the knock-out stuff kicked in. He looked down to see Jan peering up at him, the green eyes glinting soft and huge in the gloom, with hollows of lamplight picking out his jaw-line, lower lip, and the perfect, hopeful, goofy grin. Jan's hand went up to his face and he gripped the fingers lightly, with a sigh.

"Oh, alright. Just this once. Let's just... not get into anything you're not going to remember tomorrow, alright?"

As Jan's lips met his, Denny responded gently, feeling a hot jet of joy spread through him as they shared warmth, and a light touch on bare skin for a few minutes. He let Jan slide a tentative hand up his shirt, not caring whether this was wise or not. He just enjoyed the moment and the holding, and pulled the blanket over both of them when Jan finally pulled away from the kiss, a little breathless, to flop down on his chest. The fact that Jan had to be loaded up with catnip to show how he really felt was a bit of a hint that he might be stuck in his closet a little while longer. Fair enough. He'd never actually had a relationship with a bloke. A bit of a leap for him. But, Denny grinned hugely, it was really nice to be reminded why he was being patient.

They lay quietly for a while, and Den became increasingly droopy. As Jan continued to not harass him, or reach for his buckle, or anything else, he developed a whole new respect for the guy's self-discipline, even in this state. He idly stroked his fingertips down between Jan's shoulder blades and had a right shock when a richter-scale 4 vibration passed through him. It took him a few moments to work out what it was, then he gave Jan a chiding poke.

"Are you PURRING?"

"Mmm-hmm!"

"Well, knock that off! How'm I supposed to get any kip with you doing that?"

"S'rry."

"Great clump." Nonetheless, he couldn't wipe the smile off his face as he reached over to the cotside table and snapped off the light.

**X x X**

"So, you seen any signs of this rash on yourself, yet?"

Rosalee pursed her lips peacefully and went on doing up the velcro tabs along the front of Bruno's baby-gro. She could still overlap her fingers round his entire body, and sometimes it just frightened her how tiny he was. Especially with these two gnarly, snipy predators around. In fairness, they'd been so in love with Bruno since they'd pitched up yesterday morning that she had very little worry that they'd do anything to him, even if they took a dislike to her, but nonetheless… his tiny, uncoordinated movements made her think immediately and helplessly of the vulnerability of their new little family. She blew out the irritation and smiled sideways.

"Not yet. And I've been consulting on a lotion with a colleague of mine. It's going to be easy to fix."

"You're an apothecary. Why've you got to consult on Blutbad cures?"

Rosalee gritted her teeth. "I'm sure you'd want the best for your son. Right?"

"Sure, but you should be consulting on them for others. Still, if it's not so infectious, we can give Give Doug and Marcie a ring. Tell 'em the coast is clear."

"Doug and Marcie? They're the ones with three children, right?"

"Whoot! Someone's been paying attention. That's right. Della, Marty and Ollie."

"And… where are they now?"

"In a motel just outside Hood River. They reckoned that if Eddie had something nasty, they'd just do some sightseeing and go back, but if everything seemed fine, they'd just drive that little bit more for a visit."

"_Sightseeing_? Outside Hood River?" Rosalee stared. She knew the rest of the pack had to appear sometime, but she'd been given no intimation that they were so nearby. "They've been on standby in Oregon since… yesterday?"

"Ah, the delay's nothing to them. They like their forests, those kids. But they miss their Uncle, as I'm sure you c'n appreciate."

What Rosalee could appreciate was a little more was the basic courtesy of not having the greater pack descend on her in this way, with no notice. "Martha, I need to be direct about this. I gave birth less than a week ago. This is all new to me, and I'm not in any condition for mass catering or hospitality."

Martha blinked. "Please don't be saying they're not welcome."

"Under the circumstances, I'll make them feel welcome. But how would you feel if half the family suddenly pitched up at your home?"

"I'd say 'Come in'. A Blutbad family has no closed doors."

"Excuse me for one moment." Yeah, right. Martha would _really _take that lying down. Rosalee swallowed the woge and borrowed a few of Monroe's deep breathing exercises as she took Bruno to his room and put him down in his cot with a kiss on his tiny cheek. He wasn't quite asleep, but was as droopy as if Monny had just talked him through the repair process on a John Bennet skeleton clock. She tucked him in and could've stroked his head all night. But there was business to take care of and she wanted to do this while Monroe was out.

Freya was right: she should've faced down the matriarch as soon as it became obvious that the squeeze was beginning, but Monny was so desperate to make everything work smoothly that she just sucked it all up for the first day and a half to help him make a try at things. Well, they'd tried playing happy families, and it wasn't going to work. Monny was about as relaxed as a flea on speed.

She'd hung out with Janie Wurstner often enough to see that desperate glaze splash across her eyes, and those ageing lines tug around her lips whenever they discussed the eternal battle of daughterly loyalty versus wifely loyalty, and she'd be _damned_ if she'd see her darling Monny walk around another day with that same fraught expression on his face, dreading hurting someone with his every word. Rosalee turned Bruno's light off and closed the door softly. Martha was in the kitchen, sorting the teabags into piles. They'd already been sorted, dammit.

"Outside," Rosalee said quietly.

"Excuse me?"

"You heard. Follow." She trotted out through the back door, taking care to take the key with her, and took a spot on the porch under the light. "This is why I need to consult on Blutbad cures."

She woged and folded her arms, allowing the strands of her hair to topple from over her shoulders down to the front and bounce there, shining with fox-gloss. Martha's eyes widened.

"You're not Blutbad."

"Damn straight."

"Eddie's… hooked up with a Fuschbau?"

Rosalee shifted back and nodded. "Hooked up permanently. While you're getting all the news, you might as well know that we're engaged. As of… nearly a week ago. The day Bruno was born."

Martha paled and twisted her hands, her woge coming through slowly. "This is all wrong. It's ridiculous. This… isn't happening."

"That's pretty insulting."

"I don't think I care!" the woman's eyes were so wide, it was almost like she was panicking. "Do you not get this? You're _Fuschbau! _ You're usually… lunch! What the hell will our neighbours say?"

Rosalee stepped forward. "Step within hitting range and say that again."

"You're going to smack an alpha matriarch? Really?"

"Ideally not. I'd rather you remained head of the pack, where you belong, with me behind you. But I'll be damned if I let you step on me just so you can stay there."

"What.. step on you like this?"

Rosalee gritted her teeth as a sharp heel ground into the tendons on top of her foot. She'd had worse from the guys who thought she'd be an easy lay if they dangled J above her head. Uh… no. She gave the woman one last chance. "You stop that right now, before your son has to start making horrible life choices that you will LOSE."

"You sound a little over-confident." Martha didn't remove her foot, but there was no malice in the gaze. It was competition. Pressure. How would the potential DIL deal with the pressure?

Rosalee demonstrated by putting her hand in Martha's face and pushing her over backwards onto her butt. And then the wogeing began.

**X x X**

"D'you think they're gonna... y'know..."

"Christen the centre?" Nick finished for Monroe, and at the embarrassed flush, shook his head. "Denny wouldn't take advantage of the situation."

Monroe drove in silence for a few minutes, heading for Kings Heights and Nick felt a tension between them that he'd never experienced before, not even when they'd yelled at each other on the way to last year's hug-a-grimm fundraiser, when he'd felt miserable and sick. Monroe hadn't answered his apology text, he realised, which he'd only just thought about given all the stuff going on with Livvy, the key, the case and the awards night. And Monroe had been pretty quiet at the shop, just running around and mixing stuff, occasionally handing him something to hold or scoop.

Nick took a deep breath. "About the fix thing yesterday? I'm really sorry. I don't know what else to tell you. Wasn't sober yet."

"It's alright, I got your text. Appreciated, dude. Anyway, it was me that did the actual J-blurting. I'm not mad at you, I just need to cut and run. You know when you have this real worry growing up in your gut? It's like a lead rock settling there and you can't think about anything apart from your one personal nightmare."

Nick nodded sagely. He'd had that once when waiting for Juliette to return from a girl's night out when there was a pack of Skalengek in the area. He couldn't rest until her key was in the door. So… he got why she'd have such a hard time on double-worry duty. Cop and Grimm. He'd barely made it through three hours of low-level anxiety. He managed a smile for Monroe. "I know the power of the lead rock. What's your worst nightmare?"

"Rosalee being goaded into a woge before she's ready to show herself. My girl's stronger than anything, but Ma has a way of getting under the skin. I have awful visions of getting back to the house to find Rosie cornering them in the yard."

Nick frowned. Monroe's yard was huge. "Is that even possible?"

"It's Rosie we're talking about here. She sasses the wesen council. She gift-wraps anchovies for perverts. She puts up Christmas decorations using your hand-held crossbow. I discourage that, incidentally. It's hell on the plaster. But trapping two elderly blutbad in a wide space is a piece of cake for her. Oh... hell! Nick, could you get my phone?"

Nick grabbed it out of the middle panel of the car and saw Monroe's pop's name come up on the screen. "Pull over. I don't think I should get this one for you."

Monroe pulled sharply off the road and braked, grabbing his cell. "I wasn't ignoring the phone, I was driving. Yeah. Home in thirty, I guess. I'm just dropping―what!?"

Nick saw Monroe's face tighten with panic and tried to tune his ears into the voice at the other end of the line. He could just start to pick out individual words again without even having to try, even if the guy did sound like a trucker with an air of chipmunk. Apparently, there was a smack-down going on in the yard.

"Well, stop them!"

"Are you NUTS?" Monroe senior barked. "Get between a vixen and a she-wolf? I plan to see 80, y'know? Spend a little of my savings?"

"We're coming." Monroe hung up and swung the car round in a violent U, plummeting back downhill.

"Ah... Monroe! I seem to be going with you!"

"I need back-up! God_damn _it!"

"Ok..." Nick fought for the right words. He didn't want to be seen to be leaving Monroe alone with this any more than he wanted to complicate his pal's life. "Just as a tiny reminder, I'm a Grimm, and my aunt murdered your grandpa. "I'm not sure my presence will help!"

"Grimm them, then."

Ok, that was ... unexpected. "Really? They're your parents. They're not _so_ young..."

"The hell with it! Last I heard, repeated incessantly since yesterday morning to make a point about the health benefits of meat, they're both as strong as oxes. They need a serious, serious shock to make them realise that the world has changed, and you, Nick, are that shock. Go forth and Grimm. Now excuse me, officer, but I'm going to shamelessly break some speed limits."

**X x X**

_**TBC… **_


End file.
